Fully Disfunctional
by scimitarblue
Summary: Picard, Riker, and Data fall prey to Q's latest game when the omnipotent returns James T. Kirk to the land of the living. Picard/Crusher, Riker/Troi, and oodles of Data/Yar. Rated M to err on the side of caution. Takes place after "The Naked Now".
1. Prologue: Deus Ex Machina

"Now, you understand, of course, what you must do?"

The man nodded back to the being veiled in the white, shining robe, signalling his acknowledgement.

"Good," the one in the white cloak spoke, "Because, when you've been God for as long as I have, you really learn to hate repeating yourself."

"And after this?" the other spoke, "What then?"

"Then, my friend," the white-robed one chuckled, placing a friendly arm around the other's shoulders, "Then you shall have life. No strings attached, no questions, no contract. A second chance as a strapping young buck, where the universe is your oyster...and the pearls are many, if you know what I mean."

The man smiled coyly, finding this all to be a little bit unbelievable. One moment, he'd been passing into a peaceful deathly sleep, on Viridian III. The next moment, he'd woken up at the side of God, in this place with white lights, and choirs, and every manner of gentle noise that one could imagine. This was a peaceful place.

That was the problem. It was too damned peaceful.

He'd always had the other two, hovering at his side, one spouting simple Southern wisdom, the other divulging ancient, Vulcan proverbs and drawn-out explanations at logic. They'd bickered constantly, but a man had never known such faithful, loyal, stout-hearted friends. Without them, he'd never have gotten half as far as he had on his own, and he'd owed a great deal of his long, happy, celebrated life as a starship captain to their help, and their presence.

That wasn't all that felt out of place, though. Not by a long shot. He'd always had a ship, and a crew to command. He'd always been a man of adventure, and a man of influence. Heaven? Heaven was far too boring a gig for a man like that. Which...presumably, was why God, if that's really who this fellow was, had been so willing to give him a second chance.

"This seems a little bit too good to be true," the man sneered, skeptically.

"Nevertheless, I have asked a great deal from you in exchange," the being who had introduced himself as God himself explained, "I have been very...specific in my instructions. I have three friends right now who are very much counting on you to convey a very, very important lesson."

"This is the part," the man shot back, "Where Bones would say something clever, like 'I'm a doctor, not a schoolteacher'."

"It's a good thing you're not a doctor, then," God laughed, snapping his fingers, and waving to the man, who seemed to have absolutely no idea what was to come next. "Bon voyage, mon capitan!"

With a bright flash of light, James T. Kirk disappeared from the clouds. Where he had gone was, simply, anyone's guess. Anyone but the infinite, omnipotent cosmic being who was walking his way back towards the "Pearly Gates", laughing with great and unrivalled vigor.

"Git the popcorn out, Ma! We's havin' us a movin' picture show tonight!" he chuckled in a mock southern accent, disappearing into the white, blazing eternity, into the heart of the angelic, singing choirs. "Get out of my way," he sneered, booting one of the cherubs out of the way just before he vanished, "I've got a busy, busy day ahead of me!"


	2. I: The Morning After

"Data," Tasha snapped, her eyes piercing daggers into his, "I'm only going to tell you this once. It never - "

She stopped, as the image of Data in her mind's eye flickered and vanished, replaced by her own image in the bathroom mirror. The mirror in her quarters was small, and the lighting dim, but it was sufficient. She'd been standing here for what had seemed like hours, deciding what to do, or say, when next she'd meet him. Which, undoubtedly, was going to be five minutes later, when the whole crew could 'safely' say that the effects of the polywater intoxication had worn off. She knew what she had to say, now, and she knew why. The...incident...had been incredible, it truly had.

But she was a senior officer. She had responsibilities. She had a duty, and a career. While it was true that she did feel attracted to the android - even more so, after having been so intimately joined to him - she knew that there was no way he could possibly return those feelings. If she walked onto that bridge, and told him the way it was, she'd only be saving herself a lot of heartbreak, and a lot of trouble.

_There's already going to be enough heartbreak as it is, thanks,_ she grumbled inwardly. This was one of those responsibilities that rank accorded her that she knew she wasn't looking forward to.

She'd spoken truth, when he'd come to her. When he'd stepped into that door, yes, her tongue had been loosened by the polywater intoxication; everyone's judgement had, after all, been impaired. Judgement, though, didn't change the fact that the feelings had existed in the first place. She'd wanted tenderness. She'd wanted gentleness. She'd wanted love. Data hadn't disappointed on the first two...but it was the third that everything was revolving around right now, and it was all she could do to try and think of something else.

She'd grown up on a failed colony, hiding away from rape gangs, having to be the responsible caretaker for her sister, and having to struggle just to survive. That's who Tasha Yar was. Someone who took care of everybody else, who put her life on the line to keep everybody else safe, to bring justice to a galaxy where justice was in too short a supply. She was responsible. She was the one who put herself last, everybody else first.

She'd never known just how good a...romantic evening between two people could really be.

She'd had the occasional fling, and...she'd had the slightly more common, but far less pleasant, encounters with the gangs of Turkana IV. That was a period of her life she never wanted to think on, or reflect on, ever, ever again. And yet...each and every night, it came back to haunt her. It taunted her, and ravaged her, even years after the deeds had been done. The dark caverns, the laughing faces, the things they'd done...it surrounded her, when she closed her eyes, to this very day. It was inescapable.

Yet...for just a few, brief, shining moments, she'd known escape. When Data had been here, he hadn't forced himself on her. He hadn't pressured her. He hadn't rushed it, he hadn't been selfish about it, he hadn't gloated. It was like, for just a brief while, the nature of intimacy had been overturned, completely and irrevocably altered. He'd let her take the lead, he'd listened to her, he'd asked her, repeatedly, if he was moving too fast, going too far, he'd...he'd actually listened, and cared, about how she felt. He'd given her the most perfect sexual encounter she'd ever experienced, bar none. He'd actually...pleased...her. He'd been perfect to her.

That was the problem. It had all been too perfect.

When it was done, yes, he'd seemed...different. Cheerier, for one. He'd actually smiled, although that might as well have been just the polywater talking. He'd returned to the bridge with a strut to his walk, an almost drunken look about him, and it had made her laugh, as she'd watched him leave. But...what was going on, in that positronic brain of his? Did he feel anything? He'd given her everything that she'd wanted...everything physical, tender, and comforting that she'd ever, ever wanted...but had it been love? Had she been what he wanted, or was he just a machine fulfilling a pre-programmed function?

No. No, there had to have been something more. He'd seemed so different -

_No._ She couldn't. She had to stop this now, before it went any further. If this one, shining moment in her life was proven false...she'd be crushed, and she knew it. It was best just to break it off, and try to forget it. Maybe he'd felt it, maybe it hadn't. If she...if she stopped this now, she'd never have to know. She'd never have to care.

Her commbadge trilled, and, she gasped down at it, jumping for a moment. It was still attached to her uniform front, the uniform which was crumpled on the ground, where she'd left it when she'd gotten changed earlier - for Data. She'd just gotten out of a long, much-needed sonic shower. The water always helped her to think, to reflect, to make sense of things that were otherwise mysteries. Right now, the only mystery on her mind was who the hell was trying to contact her.

"Bridge to Lieutenant Yar," spoke a pronounced, resonating voice through the speaker, unmistakeably Captain Picard's. She reached down speedily, frantically, and a little haphazardly, hopping swiftly into the crumpled jumpsuit. When she'd finished zipping up her uniform front, fully ready to return to the bridge for duty, she pressed the badge in response.

"Yar here, go ahead."

"Ah, Lieutenant," Picard mused, alluding clearly to the length of time it had taken her to answer, "I certainly hope you're no longer indisposed. Doctor Crusher informs me that the effects of the intoxication seem to have worn off, and assures me that she visited you about half an hour ago to administer the cure. Do you feel aversed to returning to the bridge?"

She cleared her throat. Of course she felt aversed. Data would be on the bridge by now, waiting.

"I'm fine," she responded.

"Lieutenant," he spoke in a deadpan, serious manner, and the frown on his face was apparent even in the sound of his voice, "We all did things we are less than proud of while under the intoxication's influence. If you need more time - "

"I'm on my way," she answered swiftly, effectively cutting him off, "Yar out."

She glanced into the mirror one last time, seeing the mental image of Data again. This time, she tried not to picture the way he'd looked hovering over her, kissing her, speaking softly to her while they'd...

No. No, she was looking at him for what he was. A machine. A machine who'd done a damned good job at what it was programmed to do, but who was just a programmed machine all the same. She might as well have made love to a toaster.

_As long as you keep telling yourself that,_ she coached herself, _You'll be just fine._


	3. II: Women Scorned

The little porcelain statue shattered against the wall of the Chief Medical Officer's office. Who knew who'd given her that damned statue, or why they'd given it to her in the first place. Beverly Crusher was ashamed right now, of the way that she'd behaved, and was ashamed at the way she'd thrown caution and everything else to the wind in an intoxicated, drunken impulse. She growled, and threw another random implement, causing a slight crash of glass against the arch of the doorway.

She'd been acting like a schoolgirl with hormone issues. The way she'd stormed onto the bridge, practically dragging the Captain into his Ready Room, and the way that she'd approached him, close enough to lean over and kiss him...it was shameful. As was the way she'd undone the front of her jumpsuit, exposing part of her chest, just beneath her neck, in an attempt to sway him, to attract him. It was unacceptable for someone of her position. God, it was unacceptable after everything that had happened!

What if Wesley hadn't been in Engineering? What if he'd seen? The boy had gone for years without a father, after Jack had died, and for Wesley to see her behaving like that, with Captain Picard of all people...it would have been traumatic. She felt like an idiot for having gone that far in the first place, but the thought of Wesley's reaction, if he'd known, made it all even worse. Furthermore...God, what would Jack have said, to the thought of his widow drunkenly seducing his former commanding officer?

"Stupid, stupid, STUPID!" she howled, stomping a foot indignantly. Despite all of the things that she felt right now, and despite how filthy her actions made her feel, there was another, far guiltier feeling that she just couldn't shake.

The only worse than having tried to garner the captain's favor in the first place was the fact that she'd failed. They'd been close - so bloody, bloody close - to the encounter, and the release that so many other crewmen had innocently enjoyed under the drug's influence. Damned, damned polywater! Everyone else had gone through some sort of release, and let loose some type of pent-up, long-dormant emotion.

Damnit, think of Tasha! Tasha was probably one of the most formal, by-the-book, almost rigidly serious officers that Beverly knew. And if there's one thing that Beverly had been able to deduce, walking into Tasha's quarters to administer the antidote, it was that even Tasha had a better time under the drug's influence than she had. Tasha had looked ashamed, and the crumpled clothing on the floor had spoken volumes, but she'd at least been able to let go - to really let go. All Beverly felt like she'd done was made a complete idiot of herself.

Whatever she felt for the captain...Beverly sighed, and put it away, in the back recesses of her mind. He obviously wasn't interested. She shouldn't have been interested in the first place. The man was stuck-up, irritable, condescending, and he hated children. He wasn't half the man that Jack had been. Beverly felt slightly better now, and felt..._over _what had happened. It made her feel slightly better, as if she were...as if she were above Jean-Luc Picard, and his like.

She walked out into the main area of sickbay, where the biobeds were, and she gasped. Troi was seated on one of the biobeds, looking miserable. After the emotional tantrum Beverly had just thrown, she expected Troi to say something about being drawn to this place by "hostile feelings", or that she'd sensed some sort of great disturbance. Troi, however, responded with nothing. She looked a little...hurt, to be perfectly honest.

Beverly sighed. Troi probably hadn't been inoculated yet. Or...wait, she had. Troi had been one of the first she'd administered the vaccine to. Why was Troi back here, in such a foul mood...?

"Deanna," Beverly sighed, catching her breath after the stark surprise, "I wasn't expecting to see you here. Are you...feeling alright?"

Deanna nodded somberly, and smiled up slightly. There was something obviously bothering her, something that was on her mind. She just seemed hesitant to voice it.

"I'm fine," Deanna answered, "I just...I feel disoriented."

"Do you think the antidote had side effects?" Beverly asked, concerned, picking up her medical tricorder and a scanner.

"No, no," Troi answered, waving and motioning to Beverly that the instruments weren't necessary. "I...don't mean that sort of disorientation, Beverly. Certain things just occured while I was...intoxicated...that have left me with certain questions."

Beverly opened her mouth to respond, but then shut it, promptly, and nodded.

"I know," Beverly answered, "Believe me, I know."

She didn't know. Troi could sense it. Beverly had felt angry, anxious, unsatisfied.

Alright...well, at least Beverly was close.

Deanna felt offended. Hurt. She'd been unceremoniously dragged up to Sickbay, all the way from Engineering, and dropped on a biobed roughly by the one man in the universe that she called Imzadi. William Riker. Riker had been trying to save the ship, which was honorable and right, and he had succeeded. If it hadn't been for Riker specifically, with a little help from Data and Wesley, they'd all be dead right now.

But...the condescending, indifferent manner in which he'd picked her up and hauled her away, like a sack of bloody potatoes, had left a mark. Troi knew that Riker's devotion and first duty was to the ship...to the people he served, and to the Federation he served. Would she ever have a real, lasting part in his life...? And would he ever have the time, the care, or the love to have a part in hers...?

Her communicator trilled, and a voice rang through Sickbay. At the sound of the voice, Crusher's grip around the tricorder tightened to the point where Troi feared she'd break it clean in half.

"Bridge to Counselor Troi," Picard spoke, "Have you fully recovered yet?"

Troi opened her mouth to answer, but Beverly approached.

"Oh, she's fine," Beverly snapped, "Thanks for asking."

There was a pause, as Jean-Luc was clearly oblivious to the reason for the angry tone in Beverly's voice, and was probably confused by it.

"Counselor, as soon as you feel ready, please join me on the bridge."

"I'll be there soon," Troi answered, tapping the badge and deactivating it. Troi couldn't help but notice the ragged, visibly furious breaths coming from Beverly's side of the room.

"I don't need to be a telepath to see that something's bothering - " Deanna started, concerned for her friend, when Beverly whirled around, and glared at her. Deanna leaned back a bit, surprised and a little frightened by her friend's manic behaviour.

"Deanna, get out. Now."

Troi nodded, and quickly stepped out of the room. No sooner did the automatic doors whoosh closed behind her, than a flying PADD exploded against their surface.


	4. III: Q's Gift

William Riker and Data stepped onto the bridge at about the same time. Both of them had just come from Engineering, and Riker was perspiring heavily, not a physical drunken reaction from the polywater virus, but from having come off the adrenaline rush of having watched the _Enterprise_ veer, at the last moment, out of the path of a massive chunk of debris, hurled in their direction by an exploding star. All the way to the bridge he'd been subject to looks of praise, cheers, and the occasional clap, as had Mister Data. They were, at the moment, the stuff of heroes aboard the ship. The fanfare would be short-lived, but for the time being, Riker felt like he was on a high. One that had nothing to do with polywater intoxication.

The first thing on his mind, though, wasn't the ship. It was Deanna. Deanna Troi, the girl he'd fallen in love with years ago during his time on Betazed. The woman who was his Imzadi. The woman he shared a limited psychic link to. The woman who, under the influence of the polywater drug, had sought him out in Engineering, wanting to be closer to him. True, their relationship had been largely platonic, since their arrival on the _Enterprise_...but today was a day that fate had been kind to the Alaskan known as Will Riker, and perhaps fate would continue to be kind.

He'd invite her over for dinner. Yes, dinner. And he'd cook - or, damn, he'd make an attempt, anyway. A good attempt. He'd play soft jazz music in the background, and they'd talk, or maybe watch some old Earth movie, before falling asleep together on the couch. Something romantic, something sweet. It would be a night just like old times.

What brought a smile to Riker's face was also the fact that his companion, Data, seemed pre-occupied as well. The android was fidgeting. He had an anxious, day-before-Christmas look on his face, as if he were greatly looking forward to something. As if he'd made some sort of miraculous, earth-shattering discovery. That, or the polywater was still thick in his system.

"You feeling alright, Mister Data?" Riker had asked in the lift, curiously.

"I do not feel, sir," Data had responded matter-of-factly.

"Are you functioning normally?" Riker had sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Fully, sir - !" Data had responded, in an extremely uncharacteristic, cheery manner. Riker had stared at him, shocked. Data's expression faded, he fidgeted again, and he responded again. "I am functioning within normal operating parameters."

Riker had no clue what to assume, or what the reaction from Data must have meant. Given the sorts of things that the crew had done under the polywater's influence, Will wasn't completely convinced that he wanted to know. At all.

After they'd stepped onto the bridge, and after a brief discussion with the captain, Riker took his seat at the captain's right-hand side, in his seat, while Data moved to man the Science station behind the Tactical console. Picard glanced over, and patted Will firmly on the shoulder.

"Well done, Commander," Picard smiled, "I would say that congratulations are in order."

"Thank you, sir," Riker responded, formally, grinning all the while.

"I should be thanking you," Picard continued, "Were it not for your efforts, along with those of Mister Data and Mister Crusher, none of this would have been possible. We might all have been killed."

This was most certainly Will Riker's day. He'd earned the praise of his crew, his captain, and he'd saved about a thousand lives. With Data and Wesley's help, of course. But today was a definite ego-booster. He felt confident...he felt more alive than he had in years. The prospect of an evening with Deanna, and the thought that Deanna still felt attached to him, only made him feel more alive. The instant she stepped off that turbolift, he was going to walk right over, and ask her to -

The moment of truth. The lift doors parted, and Lieutenant Yar walked onto the bridge...closely followed by Counselor Troi. Yar took her place at Tactical, Troi took her place at the captain's left.

Riker glanced over, smiling, confidently about to ask Deanna about her plans for this evening.

What he received in return were daggers, stared from Deanna Troi, piercing right into his heart. He felt said heart sink, and his stomach churn, and felt as if the whole good, happy glow of the day was crashing down around him. He bit down on his lower lip, lightly, hoping that Deanna hadn't noticed, and that the captain hadn't noticed the disappointment either. Fortunately, the captain hadn't.

Deanna was simply ignoring him now. The slight, psychic link they shared was enough for him to get such negative feedback from her that it felt like a black, thick cloud hovering throughout the inside of his head. He had to take a mental step back to clear it all out, and then he went back in, this time concerned.

_Is there something I should know?_ Riker asked, worriedly, _Deanna, have I done something wrong?I_

There was no response, except the stormclouds. Riker grimaced, and reclined in his seat. This bridge shift was set to last another two or three hours. It was going to be a long, long two or three hours if things continued to shape up this way.

He'd saved the ship, but, by the look of it, he'd lost the girl. Riker had done his duty, but felt an intense, emotional disappointment. All of a sudden, it didn't feel like he'd done all that much at all. Nothing to be proud of, anyway. He should have just left things to Wesley and Data when he'd had the chance...but then they'd all be dead, now, wouldn't they?

_I guess I just can't have my cake and eat it, too,_ he thought, aware that Deanna would probably pick up on it. Judging from the renewed, angry glare, she'd picked up on it alright.

Riker started looking for a distraction. Data! Data was always good for a laugh.

_God, how far have I fallen when I need to go to Mister Data to liven up a situation? _he mentally groaned.

He turned, glancing up towards the android, about to ask for a time estimate, a projection, an ETA, anything. Something to bring a little bit of noise to a bridge in the middle of a most uncomfortable silence. What he saw was Lieutenant Yar approaching the Science station, glaring daggers of her own at Lieutenant Commander Data. Now, this was interesting. Riker wasn't one to eavesdrop...but this was pretty much plain-sight. It wasn't like he was spying on anybody...this just happened to pique his curiosity.

Data looked anxious, hopeful, the way he had on the turbolift. The android didn't have emotions, per se, but Riker could just tell, glancing at him, that Data was looking forward, very much, to something. And Data kept watching Lieutenant Yar. That was pretty unusual, as well.

_They'd both been infected...was it possible that...?_

All he heard were the words, and then he saw the confused, almost crestfallen look on the android's face.

"Data, I'm only going to tell you once: It never happened."

Riker spun around in his chair, his eyes wide and a hand over his mouth. The captain and Deanna both glanced over, neither one having noticed the exchange between the Tactical officer and the android. The expression on Will's face was anything but worthy of a member of the bridge crew. Picard arched an eyebrow, and Deanna glanced at Will as if he were losing his mind.

"Commander," Picard spoke, irritated, "Is there something wrong with your chair?"

"Not at all sir," Riker coughed, clearing his throat, "It's a wonderful chair. Very good, sir."

Picard watched him with puzzlement, for a moment, and then continued the log that he'd started, speaking into the comm unit on the command chair.

Riker's mind just reeled. Of course Troi hadn't noticed the exchange - Data didn't have emotions. But, damn, the android looked like he'd been kicked. Hard. So...under the influence of the polywater intoxication...Data and Tasha had...had...?

_God,_ Riker groaned, _I would NOT have seen that coming. Not in a million years._

"I think we shall have a fine crew," the captain observed, wrapping up his daily logs, "If we can avoid temptation."

Riker scoffed at the irony of the words, and then took one more hopeful glance at Deanna. She was still ignoring him. The dark cloud was now starting to cut both ways. Will was confused, and a little upset that she wouldn't even talk to him. He couldn't remember the last time she'd been so upset at him. He wondered how Data was faring, as well. It seemed like right now, both of them were having about the same measure of good luck.

"Mister Data," Riker called, "Estimated time to arrival at Starbase Twelve?"

There was silence. Extremely uncharacteristic of Data. Data was seated at the science station, staring at one of the displays, gazing off into nothingness. When Riker spared her a glance, Tasha looked noticeably guilty, and seemed to grow even more so the longer that Data's silence lasted.

"Mister Data," Riker repeated, "I asked you a question."

Data still sat, motionless.

"Mister Data!" Riker called, loudly.

Data jolted, as if waking up, and then twitched, retrieving the information swiftly from his positronic brain.

"Fourteen minutes, seventeen seconds, assuming maximum warp. At current velocity, I estimate two hours, thirty minutes, five seconds, and - "

"That will be all, Mister Data," Picard snapped, waving at the android, motioning for him to be silent. Data closed his mouth, and turned his back to the rest of the bridge, returning in silence to his work. Tasha audibly sighed.

The tension on the bridge was such that one could have reached out and cut it with a knife.

What broke the silence was a flash of light. Counselor Troi, Lieutenant Yar, and Lieutenants LaForge and Worf vanished from the bridge, so that the only remaining occupants were Captain Picard, Commander Riker, Lieutenant Commander Data, and...

"Q!" Picard hollered, glancing to his side and noticing a familiar, gloating figure wearing a Starfleet captain's duty uniform, "What is the meaning of this? Where have you taken my crew?!?"

Q, not allowing Picard a further moment to ask the question, began to prance about the bridge, a flash of light changing his costume to something old, classical, and Italian.

"_La donna e mobile_," Q began to sing, belting out lines of an old, opera tune, "_Qual piuma al vento, muta d'accento - e di pensiero..._"

Picard rolled his eye, and put a palm over his eyes, hiding himself from the frightful display. Riker was about to call up to Q, with a witty, snide remark in mind. What surprised the occupants of the bridge - all but one of them - was the fact that when Q passed by the Tactical station, approaching Science, Lieutenant Commander Data stood up, raised an arm, and delivered a swift left hook to the omnipotent, knocking him into and over the tactical station, so that he landed harmlessly in Captain Picard's lap.

"Did you see that?!?" Q pointed upwards, in a mock panic, "Jean-Luc, did you see that? Your tin man just hit me!"

"Mister Data!" Picard roared, glaring up furiously at Data, and then back down at the being perched in his lap, "Mister Data, your intentions are most honorable, but next time, please send our guest on a more...convenient trajectory?"

"My apologies, sir," Data responded, barely a whisper, before returning to his task at the science station. "I simply intended to communicate our desire to remove Q from the ship in a dialect I felt he would understand."

Riker glanced up in confusion at the android, who'd acted...hurt...for the first time that Riker could remember. Not that he'd known Data all that long. But...something was definitely off.

_That little chat he had with Tasha did more damage than I thought_, Riker pondered.

"Understanding? Communication? Trajectories?" Q laughed, cruelly, "Oh, the irony! The sheer irony! It's almost too much for me to bear!"

Picard pushed Q off of him, allowing the omnipotent to land in a heap on the floor.

"Q," Picard spoke, coolly, attempting to restrain himself, "If you have something of significance to say...I suggest you say it now, and be done with it."

"I just can't help noticing that you've all, in your own way, missed the mark. The golden boy," he spoke, motioning up towards Data, "The strapping young buck," he chuckled, pointing at Riker, "And you, mon capitan, perhaps the most romantically oblivious man I've ever laid eyes on."

"Romance?" Picard scoffed, "You kidnap my crew, and seize my bridge, to lecture me on romance?"

"Oh, Jean-Luc," Q mused, stepping to his feet, brushing himself off, and, in a flash of light, turned into the spitting image of a bruised hockey player. "Don't think of it as kidnapping..think of this as your own personal penalty box. I'll put your crew back shortly."

"Our very own penalty box?" Riker mocked, "Wonder what we did wrong to deserve that..?"

"Oh, you've done me no offence," Q smiled, "In fact, the opposite. That little episode with...polywater, was it? Provided me with a great deal of amusement."

Picard stood, approaching Q, and standing dangerously close to him, glaring furiously.

"The Captain and crew of the USS _Tsiolchovsky_ were killed by the intoxication," Picard snapped, "If you had anything to do with this - !"

Q waved a hand, and a second, small flash of light appeared over Picard's mouth When the light faded, Picard's lips had been replaced by two opposing sides of a zipper. Sides that had been conveniently zipped closed, allowing Q to finish his thought.

"Well, that's better," Q sighed, "Now...I had nothing to do with your silly virus. I'm here because you amused me. Lieutenant Commander Data, define comedy."

"Comedy," Data recited, turning to face Q from the science station, still looking introverted and, mildly, still hurt, "Comedy, according to Webster's dictionary, is enjoyment taken from the limited tragedy of one or more fictional or realistic figures."

"Ah, poetry," Q smiled, holding his heart mockingly, shifting into a slightly more Shakespearean garb with a second flash of light. He wore an Elizabethan outfit, complete with moustache and goatee. "Tragedy, Data. That's the feeble, human word I was looking for. You three are a mess. A tragedy. And my heart weeps for thee. _La donna e mobile_ - !" he started to sing, before Riker stood up and approached, menacingly.

"We don't want your pity, Q," Riker snapped, "Frankly, I don't think we need it. We're fine."

"Oh, but you do!" Q mused, stroking his beard, "Lieutenant Commander Data...shunned by the woman he loves because she doesn't believe him capable of emotion."

"That is a correct assumption," Data responded quickly, "I have neither the capacity nor sufficient hardware to take on the appearance of human emotions, or to support them. At this time, I would do Miss Ya - " He paused, dead in his tracks, cutting himself off before exposing the relationship to his senior officers. "That is to say, I would do parties involved more harm than good if I were to assume that I were indeed capable of returning her feelings."

Picard glanced up, incredulously, first at Q, and then at Data.

"Mmfh, mm-mm mmmm mmmmgh mmm mmm-mmmng mmm!" Picard mumbled, against the zipper-lips that Q had granted him.

Q sighed, snapped his fingers, and the zippers at Picard's mouth disappeared.

"Thank you," Picard responded, nodding to Q, and then he glanced up at Data. "Lieutenant Commander, will you please tell me what the hell he is talking about?"

Data arched an eyebrow, twitched slightly, and responded, his golden eyes as cold as ever.

"I will not, sir," he responded, "As the details are not relevant to the subject at hand, and as I have been informed that it is the...desire of other parties that these events be left forgotten."

Picard opened his mouth to respond, but raised a palm to his face and sighed.

"Nevertheless, dear Data, your attachment to this...mystery girl, ooh! It's slowly, steadily eating away at that wonderful, positronic brain of yours!" Q giggled, dancing around Picard, "I wonder who it could be, Jean-Luc? The lovely Mrs. Data...hmm...who could it be?"

"Just get on with this!" Picard snapped.

"You!" Q continued, motioning towards Riker, "You gallivanting rogue, you! Will Riker, doubtlessly the man with the largest collection of women's underwear in the galaxy since James T. Kirk himself decorating your trophy room! But, alas! Our gallant hero, too, is stricken with the love bug! You've gone and fallen for the lovely Miss Troi, haven't you?"

"Q," Picard snapped, "We all did things under the influence of the drug. Surely, if Mister Riker and Miss Troi experienced any...closeness...it was the result of polywater, and I will not fault him for - "

"Nothing happened, sir," Riker interrupted, as if he were bothered by the fact, "Nothing happened at all. I was in Engineering."

"The bold, daring Mister Riker!" Q grinned with glee, "How bravely he carried off his faithful love into the sunset...only to drop her on her head, on a biobed in sickbay, rather than allowing himself the sweet caress of release, and giving in to that primal, primitive, true love, trivial by omnipotent standards of course, that the two of you share. Did she seem...displeased with you, Commander?"

Riker swallowed, nervously and embarassedly, and then he nodded.

"She did," he snapped, "That's our business. What does this matter to you?"

"Your business?" Q cackled, "Well, of course! Business! What is she to you, Riker, but another notch on that very, very notchy belt of yours? It's not like, in the long run, she really matters. I mean, do any of them?"

"Q, that is ENOUGH!" Picard bellowed, watching Commander Riker's face turn redder and redder, and watching his fists clench, his knuckles getting whiter and whiter. "Commander Riker demonstrated considerable control and willpower," Picard answered, "And I applaud him for having done so."

"You _would_," Q grinned, "Although...I doubt it was willpower that kept the flames of love from fanning between you and the dear Doctor Crusher. I'm fairly certain it was ignorance."

That pulled on a heartstring. As Riker watched in surprise, the captain lunged, and Q teleported harmlessly out of the way. Picard was heaving breaths, and was glaring furiously at Q, who had reappeared near one of the turbolifts.

"I'm going to do you all a great favor," Q explained, "I'm so used to seeing you as bold, brave adventurers...not the tiny, pathetic beings that your emotional attachments to these females have caused you to become. I'm going to send you a gift."

"You will return my crew to me at once!" Picard snapped.

"I will," Q mused, "And then some. But...your attachments to Miss...hmm, to Miss Data, let's call her...to Miss Troi, and Miss Crusher, have caused you all a great deal of trouble. I'll make sure they never bother you again."

Before Picard could speak a word of protest, Q had snapped his fingers, and then he was gone, in a flash of light. Lieutenants Yar, Worf, and LaForge were returned to the bridge, each to their respective stations, functioning as if nothing had happened, as was Counselor Troi. They all looked up, though, at the sight of Picard standing near the front of the room, sweating, and at the sight of Riker, red-faced and furious. As Troi was about to voice concern, Riker dashed over to where she was seated, and crouched, so that he could speak to her at eye level. His eyes were wild and worried, and his heart was moving a mile a minute.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, concerned, "Did Q harm you? At all?"

The stormclouds parted slightly, but were still thick in her mind, and she crossed her arms, looking up at him in frustration.

"Will," she explained, "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"He was here," Picard explained, glancing up towards Data, and then at Riker. "Commander Riker, Mister Data, and I were the only members of the bridge crew that he appeared to address."

Tasha immediately flew her hands over the tactical console, punching and dialing in commands. "Bridge to Security," she barked, "Intruder alert!"

"Belay that!" Picard groaned, "I...want a meeting of the senior staff. No...not all the senior staff. Let's keep this small. Commander Riker, Lieutenant Commander Data, Lieutenant Yar. My Ready Room."

"Sir," Data protested, "We will shortly arrive at Starbase Twelve to accept crew members transferred from the _USS Rorshach_. Perhaps we should wait until after we - "

"Now, damnit!" Picard spat, grumpily, disappearing into the room with Riker following closely behind him. Tasha followed, glancing a little confusedly back at Data. Data did not even meet her glance, but followed her into the room, as the doors hissed shut.


	5. IV: Disfunctional Data

"I suspect that Q has planned...a surprise, for three specific members of this crew," Picard explained to Tasha, who was seated at one end of the table, with Riker and Picard watching her intently. She was security chief, and what they'd learned from Q was going to become her top priority. Picard and Riker were concerned, and wanted to make sure she was fully aware of the implications. Data seemed to be watching her as well, but with something else in his expression. It was so hard to tell, with him, though...because he didn't exactly manifest emotion. He was a machine. But he looked...concerned.

Tasha tried to ignore the look, and tried to ignore the kicked-puppy expression he'd given her on the bridge, when she'd told him, bluntly, that their relationship had never happened. That it had just been a fling. That it was over. Say it how you will, she'd told him.

She felt awful about that right now.

She'd spent the whole trip up the turbolift with Deanna trying to convince herself that he was just a machine, that it didn't matter to him, and that breaking up with him was...logical.

_"Logical"...now who's the machine? _she mused.

She'd tried to rationalize it, tried to justify it. And the bottom line to all of her rationalizations was that he was just an unfeeling, uncaring machine. He had no emotions, and was incapable of returning her feelings...not that she was admitting she had them. But...even if she did...he'd never be able to return them. He didn't have the capacity to love. She'd probably just tell him, and he'd move on to the next task.

Then he'd stared at her, as she'd spoken, with confusion in his golden eyes. And that's when she'd known that she'd been wrong. Whatever Data felt...he felt something. Attachment, programming, some twisted, sexual subroutine, whatever it was, he felt it. She could tell she'd slapped him cleanly on the face, from his expression. She'd turned, and tried to ignore it. And then Commander Riker had called up, and had repeated his query for an ETA three times before Data had been able to give a coherent answer.

_My God..._she'd thought at the time, _I broke his heart...if he has one..._

She had to put it out of her mind right now, though. The ship was in danger. Q had returned. Her personal life and relationships - however twisted, and mangled they might be - would have to come last for now.

_Isn't that just bloody typical of me...?_

"Lieutenant?" Picard spoke, stopping in a mid-sentence, "Is everything alright?"

"Of course!" Tasha responded, shuffling in her seat a bit, "Please, sir, continue."

"Very well," Picard carried on, "Q insisted that his next...kindness...to us will be a mission of mercy, for what he described as three rather...hopeless romantics. He is under the mistaken impression that he will improve the performance of Mister Data, Mister Riker, and myself, by removing certain...rogue elements, as he views them."

Tasha arched an eyebrow, curiously, especially since now Data was looking away, still appearing nervous, but glancing out the window. He wasn't looking at her. Damnit, what was it that he wasn't telling her right now?

"What rogue elements, sir?" Tasha wondered aloud.

"Q observed the events of the polywater incident," Picard explained, "When several of us were intoxicated with the Psi 2000 virus."

Tasha winced. She already didn't like where this was going. Riker seemed to be watching her pretty closely as well, with some of the concern that Data seemed to possess. Riker was also not telling her something. Picard, though, seemed to be oblivious to whatever it was right now that bothered the other two occupants in the room.

"He believes," Picard explained, "That since Riker and I were each the victim of a...romantic episode...that there are complications in our lives that prevent us from completing our duties in our best capacity. He is wrong." Picard glanced over at Riker, a little uncertainly. "He is wrong, isn't he?"

"Whether he's wrong or not," Riker snapped, glancing at Yar, "He's listed two out of three targets. Something's going to happen to these three women, that he believes will eliminate them as possible 'distractions' or inconveniences for us."

"A flawed analysis," Data piped up lightly, "In many cases, it has been observed the the companionship of a mate causes a creature, human or otherwise, to excel. In many cases, such a relationship, particularly one monogamous in nature, can be found to have numerous benefits for both parties involved."

"Thank you, Mister Data," Picard sighed.

"Thus, one might say that a purely human, though sufficiently accurate, observation would be that Q is 'full of shit'," Data spoke in his usual monotone, but almost spitefully.

Picard glanced over, unimpressed.

"Mister Data, I'm going to have Mister LaForge run a level one diagnostic on you if this radical behaviour persists," Picard barked, "And I will not tolerate profanity within the confines of my ready room."

"I understand, sir," Data acknowledged.

Riker raised a palm to his face, suddenly getting a clearer picture of the situation. Tasha grimaced, realizing that Will had figured it all out. Data watched her, confusedly, as she grimaced, and Picard glanced between the three of them, not quite sure what the hell was taking place. He sighed, and continued the briefing.

"In either case...he lists Doctor Crusher as a target, because of the events that transpired between she and I earlier. Counselor Troi is listed as a target because of Mister Riker."

"Alright," Tasha nodded, jotting down the names on a PADD, "Who else?"

"We don't know," Picard growled, turning to glare at the android Ops officer, "Lieutenant Commander Data would not give me a name."

Will groaned audibly, to Picard's visible disapproval. This gave Tasha the half-second that she needed for her eyes to widen, as yet another realization hit her, causing her heart to beat rapidly, in a panic.

_Me,_ she realized, _The third one...is me._

Data was watching her, with an almost sad, ashamed look in his eyes. As if he were, in his own android, unfeeling way, displeased that he'd gotten her involved in all of this. Picard turned, facing him.

"Now, Mister Data," Picard spoke, "This is a matter of ship's security. And the security of the...party in question. Lieutenant Yar is going to need a name."

Riker bit down on his lip, glancing back and forth between Data and Yar, knowing that this was one Ready Room board meeting that was probably going to end very, very badly. Picard wasn't an officer who was likely to look kindly on two of his senior staff being...intimate. Picard, as it stood, seemed to have enough issues with the history between Riker and Troi. This would be the icing on the cake. First, the Psi 2000 virus, then a visit from Q, now...this? Riker figured Picard would have a massive coronary attack, and die, before the day was done.

"I would prefer to give the name to her myself," Data spoke, "It is...very personal."

Picard sighed, slammed his fist on the desk, and glared at Data.

"You will give Lieutenant Yar a name _now_," Picard responded, "For the sake of ship's security, and for the sake of whoever is involved. By withholding this information from Lieutenant Yar's investigation, you are putting the one you claim to be so...attached to...in a great deal of risk. You will not be permitted to leave this room until she is aware of this person's identity."

"I..." Data stammered, glancing up at Yar nervously. Her eyes were wide, and she was bracing herself for what she knew would be a violent reaction from the Captain.

"Very well, sir," he said, "She is - "

"Data, no!" Tasha blurted out, triggering an immediate response. She clamped her hands over her mouth, and Picard turned to face her, his face suddenly darkening, and becoming very, very serious. Riker had an apologetic, pitiful look on his face. Data, though, seemed to be very calm, very controlled, and very collected.

"Lieutenant Natasha Yar," Picard spoke, "Is there something you would like to contribute?"

"No, sir," Data cut off, "Allow me to explain." He turned from Picard to Tasha, and then spoke. "Tasha, you realize you need not keep the identity of my partner a secret any longer. She would understand that this is a matter of ship's security, and that it was imperative that - !"

_That no good, condescending, vindictive, backstabbing machine!_ she growled mentally, _"Ship's security"? How dare he talk to me about "ship's security" like that! Of all the - !_

Picard paused, and glanced over to Data.

"You mean Lieutenant Yar knows this woman?" Picard pondered.

"Yes," Data explained, "The identity of my partner was confided in Lieutenant Yar, once sexual activities between me and my partner had ceased. Lieutenant Yar is a crew member I trust, and a good friend."

"But you didn't think to report the...relations...to Doctor Crusher, or to anyone else?" Picard asked, curiously.

"She...regretted what happened between us," Data explained, "My partner, that is. But...she is someone known to me, and Lieutenant Yar. Someone we both were concerned for."

Tasha realized what Data was up to, breathed a sigh of relief, and, had the captain not been present, she might have leaned over the table and kissed the android full on the lips for having covered her.

Before Picard could speak, Riker interrupted.

"In my opinion," Riker spoke, "Lieutenant Yar will be placed in charge of this investigation...so long as she and her staff are aware, that should prove sufficient."

_Bless you, William Riker._

Picard considered prodding further, but sighed, and conceded.

"Very well," he nodded, "Lieutenant Yar, begin your investigation immediately. Watch Doctor Crusher, Counselor Troi, and this...third individual closely. Alert me at the first sign of trouble. And remember," he explained, leaning into the table, gazing seriously at all three of his officers, "This is to kept silent. Between us. We will play Q's little game...to a point. We don't want to show our hand too early."

"Captain," Data interrupted, "There is no logic attempting to keep our efforts hidden from Q, as an omnipotent being, by nature, would be capable of viewing any and all - "

"That will be all, Mister Data," Picard snapped, "I...am still going to have a long, serious talk with you when all of this is done. I am very dismayed. Dismissed."

Riker, Yar, and Data, all stood and left. Riker turned, glancing at the other two.

"Why don't we head to the security office, and get started?" he offered, giving Tasha and Data a glare that spoke, clearly, _follow me._

"Yes, sir," Tasha acknowledged, and Data followed suit. The two fell into line behind Riker.

They marched across the bridge, earning a suspicious glance from Deanna, before the three stepped into the turbolift, and the door closed.

"Deck Five," Tasha commanded, and the lift began to move.

"Halt," Riker snapped, slowing the lift to a crawl and glancing at the other two with his arms crossed. He glanced at Data, then at Tasha, then at Data again. Both of them glanced back at him like children who'd been caught in the cookie jar.

"Sir, I can explain - !" Tasha blurted.

Riker raised a hand, cutting her off.

"Don't," Riker explained, "Because what I don't know, you can't be court-martialed for. Fraternization might not be illegal anymore, for Starfleet officers...but you're senior staff. Whatever's going on between you two, keep it quiet. And Mister Data? The captain's right. Watch your attitude."

Tasha opened her mouth to respond, but Data, with a very logical, informative expression on his face, countered each and every one of Riker's points.

"There are no regulations stating specifically that fraternization between even senior staff should be denied," Data explained, "Thus, whether the captain harbors an awareness of the events or not, it is irrelevant. In a case where the information becomes necessary, I will not withhold the identity of my partner. I will not hesitate to come forward. Tasha has, however, stated to me that such would be less than desired, and I shall honor her wish. In either event, at this time my partner has also made it clear to me that she wishes to discontinue relations, and thus the point has become irrelevant at any rate."

Data knew that Riker knew what had taken place, but still seemed to speak as if the incident were just an event. Like Tasha was still some unknown, third-party. It was almost as if the android were refusing to acknowledge just how close to home this had happened.

Or that this had even happened at all.

Tasha again opened her mouth, but Riker cut her off.

"Data," Riker snapped, "Regardless, your behaviour was unacceptable. You bare-face lied to Captain Picard."

"I spoke nothing untrue," Data explained, "I stated that Tasha was aware of my partner's identity, and she is - !"

"Data, a lie of omission is still a lie."

"Then perhaps the capacity to lie would, thus, indicate that I am becoming more human. Like you, Commander."

Riker scowled. "I agree with Captain Picard. Report to Engineering, now, for a Level One Diagnostic," he ordered.

"I am functioning - " Data protested

"Fully, yes, I know. A little too fully, Mister Data - !" Riker interrupted.

"Stop it, now, or I'll phase you both!" Yar yelled, drowning out both of them. Data and Riker both stopped, staring at her in surprise. Surprise in Riker's case, anyway. Data's expression was as blank as ever. "Deck Five," she spoke, as the turbolift started moving.

"Deck Four," Data interrupted.

"Look, it's done," Tasha sighed, "It's over. The virus is off the ship. This won't happen again...I should have been thinking more clearly."

"A logical conclusion," Data snapped.

"Will..." Tasha continued, "Thank you for what you did back there. Data...thank you, too."

"For what?" Data asked, glancing off into nothingness.

"For...for not telling."

"Telling what?" he asked, quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

"For..." Tasha sighed, not wanting to acknowledge it out loud, "For not telling about...us."

Riker frowned, having his suspicions confirmed aloud, crossing his arms and sighing.

"There was nothing to tell," Data snapped, his tone heavy as the turbolift doors opened on Deck Four, and he stormed out into the hallway. He turned, glancing over his shoulder, pausing for a moment as the two occupants of the lift watched him walk away, "You stated that it never happened. I am obliged to honor your statement."

Whoever said that androids didn't have emotions had obviously never broken off a relationship with one. The look of hurt on his face was evident to Tasha, as he stalked away, even if to anyone else it seemed as if his expression were unchanged.

"Mister Data!" Riker called out, loudly, poking his head out of the lift after the android, "I said report to Engineering!"

"I shall endeavour to find another lift!" Data snapped, calling back, "One from inside which I might perhaps make Lieutenant Yar less uncomfortable!"

Tasha looked genuinely, heart-stoppingly shocked. She watched, stunned, as the lift doors closed, leaving her and Riker in a temporary silence. She breathed out deeply, wiped her eyes, and leaned back against the wall of the lift. Riker crossed his arms, and also sighed.

"Deck Five," Riker spoke, watching Yar, who looked as if she'd been hit by a flying shuttlecraft. "Look...I don't know what he said, or you said, or what this is all about. But you're going to have to deal with this. Sooner or later."

The lift opened, and Tasha chuckled, dryly, stepping out into the corridor towards the security office.

"I did," she sighed, remembering her words to Data on the bridge, "That's what started this in the first place."

Before Riker could follow, she'd walked into her office, the door hissing shut behind her. The lift doors closed, leaving Riker alone.

"Damn," he sighed, "Where the hell was I going, anyway...?"

Whatever had just happened...Will Riker had a bad feeling that it wasn't over yet. Data was hurt. Now, Tasha was hurt. The two of them seemed to be dancing around each other, dancing around the issue of intimacy, neither one directly stating their emotions. Data was behaving like a child throwing a tantrum. Tasha was acting like she'd been slapped in the face, or like she was guilty for having slapped someone else.

Maybe, in this case, Q was right. Maybe Data's emotions were flaring up seriously for the first time, causing conflicts between his duty as a Starfleet officer, and whatever emotional tie or obligation he felt to Tasha. In either case...Riker had a bad, bad feeling that this still had a long way to go. Which brought him to his next set of worries: His relationship with Deanna Troi.

"Bridge," he commanded, as the lift started to ascend.


	6. V: Beware Mudslinging Telepaths

"Captain's Log, stardate 40210.3. Following a thorough decontamination of the ship to prevent further spread of the Psi 2000 virus, the _Enterprise_ is en route to Starbase Twelve, where we are to accept into our ranks several new additions to our crew, including a new command-level officer and a historian. The latter, I look forward to meeting with great interest, as his studies revolve around old spacefarers and explorers. I recently read the thesis paper he wrote on Captain James Tiberius Kirk, and must admit that it was a captivating, and most insightful read."

Picard flicked a switch, terminating his log, as Will Riker stepped back onto the bridge. His first officer looked gloomy, and perhaps a little overwhelmed, and Picard questioned right now what could possibly be the cause. Of all the officers aboard in command-level position, Will had dealt best with the Psi 2000 virus. He had resisted the temptations. He had saved the ship. What could be causing the apprehension and confusion that was apparent now, and the transparently clear concern that Riker had shown in the Ready Room, while addressing Data and Yar? There was still a great deal that made no sense at all to Jean-Luc Picard.

Riker took his seat, reclining, and raising a hand over his mouth, deep in thought. He glanced over towards Deanna, who was still - like she'd been before - ignoring him. Riker cleared his throat, and attempted shakily to break the silence.

"Counselor Troi," he inquired, "Have you gone over the psych profiles for the crew members waiting at Starbase Twelve?"

"I have," she responded coolly, not once ever actually meeting his gaze. Picard noticed this, with great curiosity, and continued to watch the display with fascination. "Lieutenant Drake will be a fine addition to the crew, as our science department has been lacking a thorough historian for some time. Ensigns Erikson and Gallant will be assisting Lieutenant Commander MacDougall's shift in Engineering, and are both capable, competent engineers. We still don't have a confirmed name on the command-level officer, but the reports I've received assure me that he is proficient as an officer, that he is an effective leader, and a skilled diplomat."

Picard watched her steadily ignore his first officer, as Riker's facial expression seemed to indicate a greater, and greater frustration and desperation. One didn't have to be a telepath to see why. Deanna was clearly, and intentionally, trying to stomp on him, for whatever reason. On one hand, Picard found the behaviour childish and unacceptable. On the other hand, he knew that Will Riker was known for being rather...loose, in term of his choice of after-hours company. He was the closest thing the _Enterprise_ likely had to a full-blown womanizer. Picard wondered what Riker could have possibly done this time to incur her wrath.

Then Troi crossed a line.

"Captain," she spoke, watching Riker spitefully out of the corner of her eye, "I suggest that we allow the command-level candidate to replace Commander Riker for a few days, so that I might better evaluate him."

Riker's look was one of unadulterated shock, and offense. Picard slammed a fist down on the command chair with such force that even Worf, manning the Ops console, jumped in alarm.

"No, damnit!" Picard snapped, "I will allow the officer on my bridge, and you will observe him as your duties require. But I will not tolerate any more childish, infantile bickering on my bridge. Or in my Ready Room," he continued, glaring at Will.

"I've already ordered Lieutenant Commander Data to report to Engineering for a - "

"Commander Riker, Counselor Troi," Picard sighed, raising a palm over his face, "Please leave the bridge. You are dismissed."

"But - !" Deanna protested.

There was a beeping from the front of the room, and Lieutenant Worf turned to face the Captain, First Officer, and Ship's Counselor.

"May I intrude?" he asked, his voice deep and dry as ever.

"Of course, Mister Worf," Picard responded, tugging at his uniform front, straightening the shirt.

"Starbase Twelve is hailing. They are ready to transport our new crew to the _Enterprise _on your command."

Picard nodded. "Thank you, Mister Worf," he acknowledged, and then glanced over at Troi and Riker.

"Why don't the two of you welcome our new guests?" Picard asked.

"I - !" Deanna protested.

"Excellent," Picard interrupted, waving a hand and shooing them away, "And take Lieutenant Yar with you. Have her be alert for any suspicious activity."

Riker knew better at this point to argue the point, and he stepped into the turbolift, following a scowling Deanna, still wondering what on Earth he'd done wrong to have provoked such a bad reaction from her in the first place.


	7. VI: Enter Kirk, Stage Right

Commander Evans checked the names of the officers present in the makeshift parade square that was normally Starbase Twelve's cargo bay. He had already sorted out the transfers to the _Lexington_, the _Rutherford_, and the _Takamori_. Now, all that remained was the group of four new officers he'd be transferring to the _Enterprise_. Their group was smaller than the other three, despite the larger size of the ship they were transferring to. It was difficult for officers, even reasonably decorated officers, to secure a spot on Starfleet's flagship. It was an honor, and it was something to aspire for.

He was going to be giving the transfer orders, today, to four officers - one command, two engineering division, and one science. A bridge officer, a couple of technicians, and a historian. He glanced over the list one more time as the group stared back at him, apprehensively, realizing at about the same time that he did that they had a very large problem.

The command-level candidate was nowhere to be found. His gaze fell first to the historian in blue, the senior officer of the group.

"Lieutenant Drake!" he snapped, tartly, "You appear to be missing something."

"I left several messages for our command candidate while we were on the _Rorshach_, and I've tried to reach him since we arrived on base for shore leave. All I know is that wherever the Lieutenant spends his evenings, it's definitely not in his own quarters - "

"I made it!" a voice called. The assembled officers glanced behind them, spotting a young man in a dishevelled red, command uniform tearing across the parade square, a duffel bag in hand.

"You're late!" Commander Evans scoffed, glancing at his chronometer. "Captain Picard won't look kindly on tardiness, Lieutenant."

"Then I guess I'm very fortunate, Commander," the command candidate smiled smoothly and sarcastically, patting Evans on the shoulder, "That we've got a reasonable fellow like you running the show here on Starbase Twelve instead. And thank you, as well, for that concerned and heartfelt warning."

Evans scowled. The way that the officer was grinning back at him smacked of wise-guy attitude and confidence, the sort that fit a starship commander well. On just a Lieutenant, such a demeanor, however, was only just annoying.

"Remove the hand," Evans snapped, and the command Lieutenant quickly complied.

The Commander glanced over the group, and passed each of them a PADD indicating their transfer orders, new assignments, and numerous other details. Something seemed to be amiss, though. The command candidate didn't even bother glancing over his PADD, before he pocketed it, and the historian in the blue uniform couldn't stop glancing over at the command candidate, as if he'd seen that same young man somewhere else before. There was something eerily familiar about him...about his appearance, about the way he stood...something just didn't feel right.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Evans called out, moving to the front of the room and addressing the parade square, "You have your orders! Proceed to designated transporter rooms, and embark on your designated ships. Good luck, and godspeed!"

The rank-and-file formations broke into a rabble, each group headed towards their own, respective, transporter rooms. Lieutenant Drake, a historian who had studied early spacefarers and piracy his whole life, and who knew 22nd and 23rd-century Starfleet like the back of his hand, knew that there was something very, very odd going on here. It was something about the command officer in their group...something about the way he looked, and talked, and walked.

It was the sort of thing he knew he'd realize later on, and feel like a fool for. Now was a good time to stop staring, though. Aside from his work as a historian aboard the _Enterprise_, he had a beautiful wife waiting on Jupiter Station, who he told he'd call as soon as he got aboard. He already had so much to tell her - between the time he'd disembarked from the _Rorschach_ and now, he had already experienced quite an adventure. He'd met officers and new friends from different vessels, different races, even an old historian working as a science officer onboard the _USS Lexington_. He'd seen a ship leave its dock for the first time, and the celebration that accompanied it, while the _Rorschach_ had been on final approach.

His eyes were tired from the wide-eyed optimism and excitement he'd experienced over the last few days, and he was looking forward to unpacking his gear, calling his wife over subspace, listening to a few minutes of the lectures from the Daystrom Institute on the role of Kirk's five-year mission on exploration into the late 23rd century, and their influences on relations with the Klingon and Romulan empires. Scholarly stuff. Now, they just had to reach the transporter room.

Within minutes, the group had reached their destination, the winding corridors leading to a set of doors that whooshed open as the group destined for the _Enterprise_ stepped inside. The command candidate took a deep breath, sighed, and glanced around the inside of the cylindrical room as if he'd never seen a 24th-century transporter pad before.

"Some things never change, I guess. At least they've got good taste," he mused, glancing at the displays, the glowing walls, and the room in general. He stepped onto the pad itself, motioning to the rest of the team. "Lieutenant? You coming along?

Drake glanced at him, still not quite certain why his face seemed so familiar.

"Of course," Drake answered, "Erikson, Gallant, let's go. We don't want to hold up the _Enterprise_, do we?"

They stepped onto the pad, and the officer posted at the transporter controls smiled at them, waving a quick farewell salute.

"_Enterprise,_ this is Starbase Twelve. We are prepared to initiate transport. Standing by for further instructions."


	8. VII: And So It Begins

Commander Riker was leaning over Deanna's shoulder, trying to see the contents of the PADD that she was holding onto. He could still sense something through that link that they shared, and it was something dark...something angry. Maybe Q had a point - maybe it was the way he'd carried himself earlier, while she'd been under the virus' influence, that was bothering her. Perhaps he'd been just a little bit too stark.

"Deanna," Riker spoke.

"Counselor Troi," she interrupted, correcting him.

Riker sighed, and tried again. "Counselor Troi, I just wanted to...apologize. If in some way I've offended you -"

"You were doing your duty," she snapped, still visibly angered. Riker sighed, and raised a palm to his face, knowing that he probably wasn't going to get anywhere at this rate. Maybe the best plan, for now, would be just to let proverbial sleeping dogs lie. Her frustrations were fresh, probably not helped by the confusion of having a visit paid to the _Enterprise_, yet again, by the Q Continuum.

"What do you make of the newbies?" he asked, grinning.

"Newbies?" Deanna asked, rolling her eyes, "Well, I already told you on the bridge, they seem like a fine group."

"But still no word on the command candidate," Riker sighed, "Command should have at least given us a name."

"Well, according to this," Deanna motioned, waving the PADD back at him, "The transfer orders are pending. He'll have them when he comes aboard."

"I hope so," Riker answered. While he and Troi were on one side of the room, carrying on their tense little conversation with the transfer orders in hand, the transporter chief was standing at his station, receiving the go-ahead from Starbase Twelve. On the other side of the Transporter room, Lieutenant Tasha Yar stood with a grisly-looking phaser rifle - a little bit heavier than what such a circumstance normally required, which Riker took as a direct statement on her current state of mind. The turbolift confrontation really must have stung.

Based as well off the dark, visibly angry expression on her face right now, it had stung. And she was holding that phaser rifle like she wanted to use it.

"Was the weapon really necessary, Lieutenant?" Riker called.

"Safety first, sir," Tasha half-responded, speaking in a low mumble.

Deanna was angry. Tasha was angry. Riker was just damned confused. Recruits would be pouring in any minute. And, on top of all this, Q was apparently trying to do something 'nice' for his friends on the _Enterprise_. Riker had assumed that saving the ship from a careening, off-course piece of star debris would have been enough to rate this particular day as a good one. Apparently, he'd been wrong. He had a ship's counselor who was furious at him, a Security Chief having relationship problems with an android, and a whole lot of work to do to make sure that whatever Q had planned for the lot of them didn't pan out.

Just another day in the life of the _Enterprise_'s First Officer.

"Starbase Twelve reports ready," the transporter chief chimed.

"Then I guess now's as good a time as any," Riker sighed, "Energize."

Deanna Troi crossed her arms, and Yar held her rifle at the ready, as if she were waiting for a Klingon boarding party to arrive. Riker groaned, wondering if perhaps he should have just welcomed the new recruits aboard alone. The transporter chief pressed a few dials and buttons, and finally fired up the pad and initiated transport.

There was a glimmering of blue-white light as the group from Starbase Twelve started to materialize on the transporter PADD. As Riker, Troi, and Yar watched, two Engineers in gold appeared on the rear of the pad, followed by a dark-haired, bearded man in blue off to the right, and a rather dashing young man with chestnut brown hair in a command uniform appearing on the center of the pad itself, surrounded by the rest of the group.

Riker noticed that, for some bizarre reason, Troi and Yar were watching the materialization of the new team with significant...interest. Their eyes seemed to be glued to the center candidate, the command officer, and they were watching as he materialized. Troi sighed, and glanced over to Yar with a grin on her face, for the first time since after Riker had earned her wrath that day.

"Amazing," Yar whispered, under her breath.

"Yes," Riker interrupted, causing her to jump and drop her weapon, "Materialization is quite impressive, especially when one understands the physics behind it, Lieutenant. But we've got a job to do, don't we?"

"Right," Yar answered hurriedly, scrambling to pick up the rifle. There was a look on her face that was unnaturally...excited. Yar usually didn't exhibit that type of emotion at all. Yar usually didn't exhibit a great deal of emotion, period, most of the time. She tended to focus more on her duties than anything else.

_Maybe that's why she and Mister Data seem to get along so well_, Riker pondered, as the team finished materializing, _Barring, of course, that little spat on the turbolift._

When the team had finished materializing, Riker smiled broadly and stepped forward, much as he would do for any other group of new officers coming aboard. Lieutenant Drake rigidly came to attention, and barked out a request. The rest of the team followed suit, coming to attention, except for the officer in the center, who seemed to be standing at a little bit of a confident slouch.

"Permission to come aboard, sir?" Drake called.

"Granted," Riker answered, "As you were. All of you." The group seemed to be made up of what looked like new officers. Drake looked a little bit older than the rest, though, and the command officer...well, Riker, instinctively, didn't like the command officer. He didn't like the way that the man carried himself, or stood, or how he hadn't come to attention with the rest of the group.

"Welcome to the _Enterprise_," Riker spoke, "I am Commander William Riker, First Officer. This is Counselor Troi, our Ship's Counselor," Riker continued, motioning behind him to his right, where Deanna stood, "And this is Lieutenant Yar, our Tactical Officer," he finished, motioning back to Yar at the other side of the room. Riker was fortunate to have been standing in front of the two women, lest he have seen the way that Troi was naughtily eyeing the new command officer, and the way that Yar was waving to him in a way that could be described only as cute.

"Yar?" the command candidate on the transporter pad mused, with a sly and arrogant sneer that Riker would have paid money to have had forcibly removed, "Lieutenant _Natasha_ Yar, by any chance? I think I've heard of you," he spoke, moving to the right side of the room, stepping off the pad, and moving closer to her. "I had an instructor in hand-to-hand combat who warned me about you, at the Academy. He seemed to think very highly of you. You must be a very formidable opponent, Lieutenant." The command candidate, now about arm's length from her, took one of her hands into his own, and kissed the back of it, in a most gentlemanly fashion.

_Bastard_, Riker thought, glaring furiously.

Yar blushed profusely. Riker was appalled. This new officer had stepped off the pad without waiting to hand over his transfer orders, had cut off Riker's whole introduction, and he was sucking up to a senior officer. No...he wasn't sucking up. His demeanor was too smooth to be sucking up. The dear command Lieutenant, whoever he was, was obviously attempting to flatter her. He was a charmer. A smooth-talker. A womanizer. And he was oozing a confidence the likes of which Riker had never seen - not even in himself.

On top of everything else, the bloody man was womanizing his damned security chief!

"Lieutenant!" Riker snapped at the newcomer, "Back on the pad!"

"Of course," the command officer smiled, turning to walk back up to the platform before turning around, and winking at Lieutenant Yar. "I'd like to discuss our academy experiences at greater length sometime," he spoke, still very smoothly.

"Lieutenant!" Riker snapped again, glaring directly at him. He was interrupted by Yar, stepping forward, awkwardly, her rifle lowered. There was a look on her face that smacked of infatuation.

"Oh, I'd just love to, Lieutenant," she answered, playfully, smiling, "Would 1900 hundred be a bad time?" she asked, biting her lip slightly, and standing with the general stance and posture of a schoolgirl with an innate, uncontrollable crush.

"Lieutenant Yar!" Riker barked, "Control your weapon!"

Tasha fumbled for a moment, and recovered the rifle, keeping it from falling or touching the ground. After juggling it for a second, she managed to get a proper grip.

Riker looked over at Deanna, looking for some sort of reinforcement or support. The new Lieutenant in red had completely derailed his introduction. But there was a gaze on Counselor' Troi's face akin to that on Yar's, and - was there something wrong with the lights? Riker was positive that, all of a sudden, the immediate area surrounding both Counselor Troi and Lieutenant Yar had switched to what could only be described as soft light. An old earth camera trick to show affection or romance. He could also hear, like an echo in the background, a sound like vintage strings, playing like a background track in some old, 1960's Earth television program. Riker rolled his eyes, put a smile back on, and tried to recover the presentation.

"It's a pleasure to have the group of you aboard. You've all received your transfer orders, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir!" Drake responded militarily.

"Calm down, and just give me the PADD," Riker smiled. Drake feebly grinned, having just failed to make a good first impression, and passed over his transfer orders. The historian was looking over at the command candidate with fascination, but of a far grim, morbid sort. There was something bothering the officer, though Riker didn't know why. Riker took the transfer orders from the Engineers, and then came to the command candidate. The candidate smiled, cockily, and handed Riker a PADD lazily.

"I think you'll find everything you're looking for right there," the command officer smiled, motioning towards the device. Riker scowled.

"Thank you, Mister..." Riker struggled with the PADD, trying to spot the officer's name. He glanced up, returned the PADD to its previous owner, and stared him down with a look of silent distrust. "There's no name on these transfer orders."

Somewhere, in the vast expanse of space and time, in the place where higher beings and omnipotents keep the human race, and all other races in the galaxy, under their watchful eye, a lone Q cried out into the bright, white light around him.

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" he wailed, "I forgot to give him a name! Shame on me!" He snapped his fingers, fixed his little mistake, and returned to the new flatscreen television the Continuum had put in Heaven's lobby, watching the scene unfold with great interest.

In the transporter room of the _Enterprise_, the command candidate had started to panic.

"Well, my name must be on there somewhere," he insisted.

"You haven't given me your name," Riker snapped, "That might be a good start."

"My name?" the officer choked, glancing around nervously, "My name is..." He noticed a tiny flash of white light on the PADD itself, one that Riker obviously hadn't spotted. The officer pointed towards it, breathing a sigh of relief. "You must have been looking in the wrong place," he smiled, motioning towards the place where the flash had occured, simultaneously trying to read the PADD upside-down. "Lieutenant William Shatner, at your service."

Riker was about to continue his introductions, when Troi spoke up from behind.

"Oh, your name's William? That's such a wonderful name..." she giggled, in the same infatuated tone that Tasha had been oozing.

_But that...that's MY name! _Riker thought to himself, flustered.

No...no, this had to be some kind of inside joke. Some kind of prank. Tasha and Deanna had probably devised this in advance, some sort of sick joke. They were just playing, trying to throw him off. There was no way they could actually be attracted to this overconfident, arrogant, smooth little punk.

"You have your orders," Riker spoke, "Your first duty shifts will follow 0800 hours tomorrow. Report to the appropriate department heads at that time. Until then, you will unpack and prepare yourselves. It's going to be a big, big day. Dismissed."

The new officers filed out of the room, exiting the doors into the corridor, and stepping into the Galaxy-class starship for the very first time. The historian with the beard, however, kept watching the command candidate, as if trying to pin down some detail, something that was missing. Riker made a mental note to remember the way the two of them were behaving. It might be useful later on. The last of the new officers to leave was Lieutenant Shatner, who left the room after giving Tasha and Deanna one last wink.

"That's so sweet," Deanna sighed, raising a hand over her mouth and blushing, slightly.

"It was," Tasha grinned confidently, "Too bad for you that it was aimed in my direction."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Deanna turned, antagonized, with her arms crossed. "He was obviously looking at me."

"But he was talking to me," Tasha continued, "He seems like the sort of man who knows what he wants. And he seemed to show a genuine interest in - "

"Ladies!" Riker spoke, both of his hands on his head in frustration, "Look, I don't know what this is about, but please save it for another time. Deanna, you and I are needed on the bridge. Yar, get back to the security office. Run background checks on all of them. Especially Mister Shatner."

"Oh, I'll be running a check on him, alright," she mused suggestively, walking out of the room with an all-too-cheery strut to her walk, "Don't worry about a thing, Commander!" Riker groaned, raising a hand to his face, in surrender and defeat. If this was some sort of prank, or some sort of joke, well, the joke had been on him. He just hoped that whatever the hell was going on aboard this ship would sort itself all out soon.

"Tramp," Deanna muttered, under her breath, watching Tasha disappear as the door closed. Riker considered correcting her, as a First Officer should, but decided that there was little use, and just simply stepped out into the corridor, on his way to return to the bridge.

This day was just getting weirder, and weirder.


	9. VIII: The Gears Spin Anew

Geordi LaForge, one of the few crewmen aboard qualified to carry out work on Data's positronic brain, was sitting in Engineering. Chief MacDougall watched as the junior lieutenant carried out his work from the other side of the room, while she was in the midst of repairing faulty relays and plasma conduits. Lieutenant Commander Data was seated before LaForge, with part of his scalp pulled back to reveal silver plating, red lights, and every manner of circuitry that a person could imagine. Data was a very, very complicated machine. There were many things about him that Geordi, and the rest of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers in general, didn't understand yet.

One thing was certain, though. His levels of biochemical fluids were normal, nothing was overheated, he was running at normal capacity. Data had been sent to him because of what Picard or Riker believed might have been some type of malfunction, but the fears were unjustified. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the android, as near as Geordi could tell, at all.

"Hmm," he marveled, putting his tricorder down for the third time, "I can't figure this out. You said that you've been experiencing...outbursts?"

"Perhaps," Data pondered, raising an eyebrow, "Although this is completely illogical, not to mention impossible. I am incapable of harboring human emotions."

"You _were _incapable," Geordi explained, "For all we know...your program could be advancing. This could be a sign that you're growing."

Data paused for a moment, shook his head, and glanced up at Geordi with a childlike, confused look on his face.

"I do not understand," Data spoke, "I consider both Commander Riker and Lieutenant Yar trusted friends and colleagues, and yet my actions towards them were...unacceptable. As were my actions towards Q, when he appeared on the bridge."

"I wouldn't consider throwing Q across the bridge unacceptable," Geordi laughed, "I'd say you just managed to do what most of us only dream of."

Geordi had to admit that there had been something just a little bit off about the android. Most folks would only see the cool, logical exterior...but he could tell when there was something eating at his friend.

"Data, what do you think is causing this malfunction?" Geordi asked.

For about the third time, though, since he'd entered Engineering, Data was staring off into space, distracted.

"Data!" Geordi repeated. This time, Data jumped, a little, and turned around to face him.

"Yes, Geordi?" he responded.

"What do you think is causing this?" he repeated.

Data frowned, and seemed to be thinking, recalling the events of the last several days.

"There are no new events that had the capacity to physically damage my positronic brain," he stated.

Geordi knew this as a cop-out. It couldn't have been his positronic brain in the first place - everything was running just fine. Geordi shrugged, crossed his arms, and glanced at the android curiously.

"You sure there's nothing wrong?" Geordi asked.

Data paused, but could give no answer. To do so would be...inefficient. Illogical. An act of poor faith, on his part. He had promised to Tasha that he would not divulge information relating to their intimacy to anyone. So far, with the exception of Commander Riker, he had done so - but Commander Riker had found out all on his own. Data could not tell Geordi.

Nevertheless...Data found himself realizing that the primary function in his positronic brain over the last twenty-four hours had been accessing information, memories, and details relating to Tasha, and his encounter with her. He found himself recalling the things they said, and did, and previous events in his mind over, and over again. Analyzing it painstakingly, grasping for each and every detail, and for what reason?

He was trying to determine whether she'd spoken truth. She had told him, very explicitly, that their intimacy had never happened. Nonetheless, there were indications that she harbored a slight attraction to him. In which case, it had been most inappropriate for him to have behaved the way he did on the turbolift. Perhaps he had...misjudged the situation. Yes, he had. And there was now, based on data he'd collected from other human beings, historical, fictional, political, and social, in other situations, a high probability that she was angered. He assumed that at this time she was upset, and rightly so.

"Geordi," Data explained, not willing to release any details but needing advice nonetheless, "Lieutenant Yar seemed especially offended. I believe I was...harsh, when I spoke to her."

Geordi watched his friend, for the first time, appear a little...ashamed? Who knew? He sighed, crossed his arms, took a seat in a nearby chair, and reclined.

"Well," Geordi sighed, "You can always apologize. But...this _is_ Tasha we're talking about. You might want to do it from behind a barricade."

Data cocked an eyebrow, not understanding the humor. Geordi waved the remark away.

"What I mean is," Geordi explained, "Maybe...just something simple."

"I wish to explain why I behaved in such a manner," Data said, "Perhaps if I provide a justification for my behaviour, she will understand my frustrations."

"Talking about it's good," Geordi explained, "But...maybe just something simple first. If you go and start trying to rationalize your actions, or make excuses...sometimes it makes the apology seem less valid."

"So you suggest the equivalent of a surrender?" Data pondered.

Geordi snapped his fingers and nodded.

"Yes. That's it," he confirmed, "And...maybe try a peace offering. Do something nice for her."

Data paused for a moment, recalling all of the instances when he had observed a pair of romantic partners on this ship engage in domestic or personal disputes. Often, the male partner would return to the residence with a hand full of colorful flowers, generally red ones, arranged in a bouquet.

"Flowers?" Data pondered.

Geordi laughed to himself a little, and smiled.

"Where did you get that idea?" he asked.

"Ensign Martinez often carries a bouquet of red flowers to his quarters after he and his wife have had a dispute," Data explained, "I suspect the nature of the gift is apologetic."

Geordi laughed a little more lightly, but frowned a bit, getting ready to explain this to Data in fine, minute details.

"Flowers are more a gift for...couples," Geordi explained. Data's eyes seemed to widen slightly at the mention.

"Fascinating," Data remarked, "Please, explain."

"Well...flowers you can do, but stay away from roses."

"For what reason?" Data asked.

"It's not unusual to send people flowers...but you have to be careful. Different flowers have different meanings. Roses are a flower that is usually associated with love. True love," Geordi explained. Data got his usual half-smirk, the one where you really couldn't tell if there was a smile in that positronic head of his or not, and he stood, moving towards the turbolift.

"Thank you for your assistance, Geordi," Data acknowledged.

"Wait!" Geordi called out, "Don't leave until I put the rest of your head back on!"


	10. IX: The Stage is Set

It had begun.

Q watched with great applause, a belly laugh growing inside of him, as the completely unsuspecting Lieutenant led 'William Shatner' back to her quarters. Not even a full hour on board, and the once-dearly-departed captain of the original starship _Enterprise_ was already living up to his reputation, and then some. Not that Q hadn't already known that he would - there were, after all, benefits to being omnipotent.

He watched the small talk. He watched the verbal joust - pathetic, though it was. He watched her squirm as she watched him, and as the clever captain's smooth talking drew her farther, and farther into his little web. Yes, this was all working out rather nicely.

But...alas! Q knew that the little scene hadn't quite been cut yet. There was still another player he was expecting, one who had just left Engineering, and would be on his way with haste. Q leaned forward, watching with great interest as Lieutenant Commander Data stepped out of the turbolift. His belly laugh ready, his eyes glued to the television, and his mouth full of popcorn, Q watched wth anticipation to see what might happen next.

"He's ful-ly func-tional, and anatom-ically cor-rect!" Q sang, chuckling to himself with glee.

* * *

Data had taken Geordi's advice quite seriously. When selecting the flowers, he had considered quite carefully the natures of each, the colors and their associations, as well as many of the deeper meanings associated with each of the flowers. He'd also cross-referenced the meanings of the plants with their olfactory effects on the human sense of smell, so that they would be pleasant to her, when they arrived.

Despite Geordi's advice, however, the rose had turned out to be the most effective flower of them all. And while he was not capable of human emotions...she was. He had gained a deeper, fuller understanding of human intimacy from his time with her, and he had already focused a great deal of the active memory in his positronic brain around her. Geordi LaForge and Captain Picard each took up a significant amount of space, but neither one quite so much as the space he'd diverted to Tasha. He longed even more, now, to attempt to become more human. To feel the emotions the others felt. He couldn't feel love now...but a time, possibly, would come when such was possible.

The overwhelming reason for his selection, though, is that a bouquet of roses were found to produce more intense positive reactions in human females when received as a gift from a male partner. Data had wronged her before, and had been harsh on her before, whether he'd intended to or not. Now...he wanted to change that.

She had told him before, under the virus' influence, that what she wanted was gentleness and love. While he was incapable of providing her love right now...he would at least provide gentleness. And, even if he was incapable of feeling love itself, so long as she felt loved...perhaps that would be sufficient. As long as she felt loved, and as long as she felt that tenderness that she longed for, was that not what mattered most? Data felt a desire for her to have a happy, long life - whether it was a programmed parameter or a genuine emotion, did it really make a difference? If he could provide what she wished in a capacity similar or superior to an organic, emotional partner, would it be so wrong of him to attempt to form a closer relationship with her?

By the same token, though, he did not wish for it to be hollow, or to be a lie. He wanted to understand love. He wanted to feel it, share it. He had pondered it at great length on his journey to her quarters...which, for an android was an eternity.

He was close now. It would only be about a minute's walk more.

* * *

The soft light, and string music that fluttered and flitted about in the background was a mystery to her. Where it had come from and why it was here, she did not know. There had been no computer commands issued, nothing done to trigger either event. And yet, she was not bothered. She was experiencing true, glorious bliss right now.

The touch of his skin against hers was incredible...the way he caressed her, the way he touched her, the way he seemed to know exactly what she wanted, what she needed...it was perfect.

She sighed at the contact of his fingertips along her cheek, and she glanced up, longingly.

"William, please...?" she whispered, almost mewling.

"How can I refuse?" he smiled, charmingly, leaning down and kissing her neck gently. She sighed and shuddered from the pleasure of it all, and glanced back up at him, watching him. Within moments, the last of their clothing was littering the floor. He hovered over her, watching her, and smiling at her.

"There's only one thing I want you to do," he whispered, into her ear.

"Anything," she moaned, "Anything, William!"

He grinned, and kissed her on the lips, slowly albeit passionately, breaking the kiss to speak his request, before they began.

"Just call me James..."


	11. X: Data to the Rescue

Data reached Lieutenant Yar's quarters after about another minute of walking, but it was not until this particular moment that he chose to evaluate what he should say when she answered the door. Was there a specific human etiquette to be followed when giving one such a gift? Did flowers require any additional interpersonal exchange, or discussion? Would she like the flowers? Would she answer the door?

He was questioning, and it occured to him that perhaps Geordi was right. Perhaps emotions had already begun to manifest, and he was simply unaware of their presence. Perhaps, in time, he would be capable of feeling that human emotion called love. When he did, would she love him in return? Would things be any different? Or would their intimacy, from her point have view, still never have truly happened?

There were so many variables. So many questions. There was little certainty or little logic in this matter, which, in its own way, truly intrigued him. At the same time, he found it daunting. Difficult to deal with. He was not completely certain how he should proceed.

He decided that there was really only one way to proceed at this point. He had to talk to her. He had to give her the flowers. He had to show her that he had behaved poorly on the turbolift, and that he wished to function in such a way that she might be more pleased with him. He put a smile on, awkwardly, as he knew that such an expression generally put human beings more at ease. Rather than just standing in front of the doorway, and letting the door chime indicate his presence, he reached out and knocked on the door's surface.

He paused a moment, waiting for her to respond. The only answer he received was silence.

"Computer," he spoke, to a panel near the doorway, "Locate Lieutenant Yar."

"Lieutenant Yar is in her quarters," the computer responded. Data arched an eyebrow, paused, and returned to the front of the doorway.

"Fascinating," he mused. He knocked once more, again receiving no response. He considered, for a brief 1/144th of a second, leaving the flowers at the doorway for her to find in her own time, but suspected that then he would not know for certain that she had received them. It was then that his auditory receivers picked up on something. It was a sound, almost like a slow, heavy metronome, a banging or crashing of some sort at regular, roughly half-second intervals. It was a curious noise, indicating a rough physical movement of an object of some sort. It also appeared to be coming from inside Tasha's quarters.

Data arched an eyebrow, and moved in to listen closer. Amid the hard ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump muffled by the door of her quarters, Data could hear the sound of a pair of voices. One was certainly, and unquestionably hers. The other was unknown. The man sounded as if he were grunting, aggressively, and Tasha seemed to be crying out, repeatedly. This gave Data significant pause. Who would Tasha have allowed to enter her quarters? She was not a particularly social person, after all. For a moment, Data wondered if perhaps she was again engaging in intimate contact, but given her disposition against it, Data was certain that this was not the case.

Besides, earlier Tasha had indicated that gentleness was what she had desired in a relationship. What he heard from inside the quarters right now was anything but gentle. It sounded as if she were being assaulted, or beaten. He could hear Tasha's voice more clearly, now, as she grew louder and louder. "Oh God, oh God!" she was crying out, repeatedly, invoking an ancient Earth deity for aid. It was likely that if she was resorting to divine intervention, then her situation was dire.

Immediately, Data leaped into action. Tasha was an invaluable member of this crew, but...more importantly, she was someone special to him. He was not going to allow unnecessary harm to befall her. He would make certain of it.

He tapped his combadge, and it trilled.

"Lieutenant Commander Data to Security," he spoke, "I believe that Lieutenant Yar is being attacked. Report to Deck Seven."

Riker was wandering through the corridor, trying to find Geordi to give him a report on the two new engineers. He spotted, of all things, Data standing outside a door with a bouquet of flowers.

Lieutenant Yar's quarters.

Riker chuckled to himself. Would wonders never cease? The android looked a little bit awkward holding the plants, but there was also something about him that Riker couldn't quite explain. A look of concern. Of focus. Riker approached, still with a broad grin on his face.

"Making up?" he mused.

"If you refer to an apology, I am attempting to, sir. I will have to ask, however, that you step back."

Riker paused for a moment, a look of worry on his face.

"Data," he spoke, "How far back? What's wrong?"

"I must forcibly enter," Data explained, "I believe that Lieutenant Yar is being assaulted."

Data moved to the door, and Riker's eyes widened slightly.

"Assaulted?" he repeated.

"Yes," Data acknowledged, nodding, motioning towards the door, "I can hear sounds consistent with a grave assault, possibly with a weapon. I believe the Lieutenant is in being done serious harm. Please stand back."

Riker moved up against the wall, having a listen for himself. Instantly, Riker realized what was going on. He put together the pieces. The way that Tasha had been behaving in the transporter room, with the womanizing Lieutenant Shatner; the way that she'd walked out of the room with a strut; the way that they'd set a date for 1900 hours...and, of course, the sounds she was making now.

Data took a step back, about to knock the door inward with his shoulder. Riker's eyes widened, and he flailed his arms excitedly, trying to warn Data away from the door.

"No!" he called out, "Mister Data, wait - !

It was too late. The android charged, effectively crashing through the door itself, stumbling into her quarters.


	12. XI: Under the Influence

The sensations, the feelings, the thrills, the contact, all of it was overwhelming. She'd never imagined that this could feel so, so good. Tasha Yar moaned softly as Lieutenant Shatner, the strapping young man that he was, continued his ministrations whilst hovering over her, occasionally kissing at her ear, neck, and lips. All of it was so hot, so fierce, so...so wild. And she was letting herself go wild, with him.

There was a chirping, like the sound of a door chime, accompanied by a knock. Someone was standing outside. She ignored the sound, crying out again beneath him as he continued to push into her, hard and fast. The sound of the bed, thumping against the wall, produced a loud crashing sound. All of it was incredible - simply incredible. It was ecstasy...it was like being on a high, on a rush. It was...almost like being drugged.

Come to think of it, since the young man had come aboard, she'd felt somewhat drugged. The lights seemed hazier, and there was that bloody string music every time that they seemed to look at each other. She certainly wasn't complaining, though. She reached up, wrapping her arms around his back and leaning upward to kiss him.

The door chime sounded again, again followed by the sound of someone knocking. She rolled her eyes, and glanced up at the Lieutenant, sympathetically.

"Sorry," she spoke, kissing him again, "I have to get that."

"You really don't," William smiled smoothly, kissing her back, "Stay here with me, Tasha..."

She paused a moment, considering refusing the request and going to the door either way. But...this was too good to stop now. It was too marvelous. She hadn't felt this good since...

...well, since earlier that same day, when it had been Lieutenant Commander Data in roughly the same position. But...there was something different about it, this time. Something euphoric, something like an intoxication. Something she really couldn't figure out. She started to feel concerned, guilty, even. She'd forgotten about Data. Hell, she'd forgotten about everything. She'd forgotten about the ship outside, about the investigation, about everything. About her childhood, and all of the trauma therein. And while she was glad to be rid of the more gruesome memories for awhile, she found herself feeling awful about Data. What would he think, if he saw her now...?

As Shatner continued to pleasure her, though, she found herself forgetting again. Soon, she was crying out loudly, as he thrusted rapidly, holding onto her upper arms for extra support. This was wild. This was wild, warm, and exactly what she felt that she wanted right now.

"Oh, God!" she called out, "Oh, God, oh God, oh God!"

She cried out over, and over, and over again, the intoxication and the arousal building, and building. She felt herself nearing her peak when she heard rapid footsteps from outside, as if someone were taking a running start at her -

_CRASH!_

- her door. Chunks and bits of the door itself flew into her quarters, kicking up a dust around the one who'd entered. Tasha cried out in alarm, clearly not having expected this. William, still atop her, jumped back, reaching for a phaser. The two of them glanced, terrified, as the intruder stepped further into sight.

"Lieutenant Yar," he called out, "Are you injured?"

Her eyes widened, and her heart rate soared. Oh, no. Not him. Not now. Not like this. He couldn't see her like this.

"Data, get out!" she yelled. But it was too late.

The dust cleared within seconds, and Tasha found herself staring back at Data, from her bed, naked. Data's expression was initially one of confusion, then of a sober, serious understanding. He had that same kicked-puppy expression he'd possessed when she'd talked to him earlier on the bridge. He knew.

And...what the hell was in his hands?

Oh, no.

He'd gone and brought her flowers. Her heart fluttered a moment, as she wondered if maybe the android's feelings had changed. He'd been so upset before, so angry before...maybe he felt better, now. No. No, of course he didn't feel better. He'd just brought her a bouquet of roses, and had walked in on her having sex with a crewman who'd been aboard less than four hours in the process.

God, what had come over her? Why the hell had she done this in the first place? What had possessed her to bring this Lieutenant Shatner, whoever he was, back to her quarters?

"Data - Data, I - !" she stammered, trying to make some sort of explanation that would justify what was happening right now. Data just took a step back, and looked away, as if he were disappointed.

"I apologize for...for the intrusion," Data spoke quickly, stepping into the hall almost as abruptly and as quickly as he'd entered. Tasha felt worse, now, than she'd ever felt in her life. She'd hurt him, and she'd hurt him good. She sighed, hopped out of the bed, and started to put her uniform jumpsuit back on.

"What are you doing?" Shatner asked.

"I have to go talk to him," Tasha answered, "God, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Tasha," he spoke, "Look at me."

"William," she snapped, putting her boots on, "I have to go. Now."

"I thought I asked you to call me James," the Lieutenant chuckled, "Tasha, look at me."

Tasha sighed, rolled her eyes, and finished doing up the laces on the boots themselves.

"Fine, James. I have to go."

"Look at me!" he commanded again, this time taking her arms and forcing her to turn, and face him.

"James, stop it! I have to - !"

But it was too late. She looked back. Immediately, the vintage 1960's string music, from God knows where, started anew. The soft, hazy lighting filled the room. Tasha found herself mesmerized, hypnotized, and intoxicated once again. As if the spell that he'd cast on her in the transporter room had returned with a vengeance. Her self-control started to slip away, and she moved towards him again, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him fully on the lips.

"Now," Shatner spoke, whispering quietly into her ear, "Finish getting changed, and then we'll go to my quarters instead. Somewhere where we won't be disturbed."

She nodded, and set to work hauling the top half of her jumpsuit on, and zipping it up.

* * *

Riker studied the bouquet of flowers in his hands for a moment. Data had thrust them rather unceremoniously into Riker's hands when he'd quit Lieutenant Yar's quarters. Riker had mumbled out an "I'm sorry," but by the time that he'd gotten it out, the android had already been a good five meters down the hallway. The security detail Data had called for when he was worried about Yar finally showed up, but he sent them away, and asked for a maintenance crew to come by and pick up pieces of the broken door.

Oh, the words that Riker was going to have for her when she came out.

On a professional level, he wasn't supposed to interfere. This was not his battle to fight. As First Officer, he could not step in and order Tasha not to drag strange men back to her quarters, or to fix the relationship between her and Mister Data. He could, however, as a friend, have a talk to her. He was going to have to, as a matter of fact. This was something too big to just ignore.

The first one to step out of her quarters was, in fact, the young man with the chestnut hair who'd come aboard with the group from Starbase Twelve. Lieutenant William Shatner.

Shatner smiled, the instant he spotted Riker, and approached him.

"Commander Riker!" Shatner grinned, "What a delightful surprise!"

"Lieutenant," Riker spat, "Fancy meeting you here."

"Oh, I was just in the neighbourhood..." he mused, as Tasha started to step out of her quarters. Immediately, Shatner put an arm around her, an arm and a comfort that Tasha seemed to be revelling in. Immediately, the strings and the soft light - damn, where were those blasted lights coming from? - returned. "Tasha was good enough to invite me in for awhile."

"I see," Riker continued, looking as irked as ever. "Lieutenant Yar, I think you might want to speak with Mister Data." He motioned down at the roses that Data had given him. Tasha, though, seemed to be blinded to him, and to the objects in his hands. She stood up against Shatner, as he kept his arm around her, smiling broadly. "Lieutenant?" Riker repeated.

"Hmm?" Tasha asked, lost, looking up from the embrace in a daze. She hadn't heard a word he'd just said.

"Mister Data?" Riker repeated, hoping to refresh her memory.

"Right!" she smiled, still being held by her new male cohort, "Mister Data! Um...I'll talk to Mister Data, Commander. Eventually. If I can remember to, anyway."

"Oh, it's not important," Lieutenant Shatner assured her, "He's only an android. Him breaking in was probably just a malfunction. I'm sure he feels fine now."

Riker grimaced, and hid his eyes from the two, who were starting to paw at each other in a manner absolutely unfitting for a pair of commissioned Starfleet officers. He waved them away.

"Go," Riker said, "Just get out of here."

Yar smiled, and giggled. "Thanks, Commander," she called, as Shatner dragged her, by the hand, down the corridor towards his quarters, "I knew you'd understand!"

All that Riker understood was that he had to have a long chat with Data, and that he had to have a long chat thereafter with Captain Picard. Especially if they wanted to get Yar back anytime before Q made his move.

And then a thought occured to Riker, as he watched the two officers disappear into a nearby door.

Maybe Q already had.


	13. XII: The Troubled Historian

Drake paced back and forth in his quarters, frustrated. It was approaching a late hour - 2030 hours generally didn't constitute "late" for the officer, but he could tell that tonight was going to be a long night. He'd already called his dear wife at Jupiter Station, and he'd been part of a three-way conference between himself, the Daystrom Institute, and the Starfleet Academy Historical Archives on the subject of his latest paper. He was going to be published, after years of fighting and pushing his research down the throats of every academic figure he'd come into even the most remote contact with. This was a night for celebration, for victory.

And yet...Drake couldn't focus. Not even remotely. There was something haunting about Lieutenant Shatner, the officer who'd come on board from the _Rorshach_ with him, but whose face he'd only just seen as they assembled at Starbase Twelve. There was something haunting about that face, that swagger, that confident sneer. The way he smooth-talked his way out of any situation, oozing confidence even in the presence of Commander Riker...there was something just too familiar about him, unnaturally familiar.

Drake paused, and started to glance through the crew archives of the last few ships he'd served on, trying to figure out, for the life of him, where he recognized this fellow from. Nothing from the _Rorshach _or the _Amadeus_ indicated even remotely where he might have come from, or who he was. He didn't seem to appear in the regular archives for either ship.

This was just getting stranger, and stranger, and stranger. Drake went over to the replicator, and sighed deeply.

"One earl grey tea," he commanded it, "Two milk, two sugar."

The beverage was produced, and the bearded, tired Drake carried it back over to his desk, sitting down and stirring the tea effortlessly. For some reason, the answer was on the tip of his tongue...and yet, he couldn't quite place the face to a name. He flipped open the lid to his computer, and loaded up a word processor, in an effort to distract himself. The Daystrom Institute was expecting a detailed report on the five-year mission of James T. Kirk, and its effect on Starfleet regulations regarding temporal mechanics.

He paused for a moment, as if something had occured to him, but then it was gone. He'd sit, and he'd write, and hopefully it would return. But there was no certainty to this...something seemed as if it were deeply out of place.

Hopefully, the answer would come before morning. But Drake was convinced that he'd work as long as he could, if it meant he'd be able to put his mind to rest. Sleep, at this point,w as optional.


	14. XIII: Reprogrammed

When Riker reached Data's quarters, he sighed deeply, at the sound of the pounding requiem bursting into the hallway. Data was playing Mozart's Requiem in D so loud that he could hardly hear himself think. He'd come here, the flowers still in hand, to find out from Data exactly what had transpired. Admittedly, Riker wasn't fond of the new Shatner fellow, and if there was any possibility that he was involved in Q's little plot...well, Riker had no compunctions about snapping the fellow back like a first-year cadet for having flirted so obviously in the transporter room with the Security Chief and the Ship's Counselor. If getting rid of Shatner meant getting rid of Q...well, that was two monkeys off Will Riker's back in one fell swoop, and it was a possibility he couldn't ignore.

Right now, though, as he stood out in the hallway, a bouquet of roses still in hand, he was trying to figure out why Data had the music up so damned loud. A few ensigns, seeing the First Officer with the flowers outside the android's quarters, snickered as they passed. That was the last straw.

"Computer," Riker barked, "Open this door. Authorization Riker-Omega-Five."

The computer complied, and the door whooshed open. Riker stormed into the room, covering his ears, and shouting out.

"Data!" he roared, "Will you turn all that damn noise off - ?"

Riker paused dead in his tracks, however, when he saw precisely what Data had engaged himself in. Data was sitting at the solitary desk in his quarters - the place that he rested, since he didn't actually require a bed - and he'd managed to open up his own cranium, exposing his positronic brain. With help from a mirror, he appeared to be running some sort of self-diagnostic...

...or self-mutilation...

Riker's eyes widened, and he called out again.

"Data!" he barked, "Turn off all that damned music!"

Data complied, and turned towards the door, lowering the pointed instrument he held in his hands, and speaking softly.

"Computer," he requested, "End program."

The computer quickly responded, with the tenor cutting off in the middle of a line as if he'd been hit with a phaser grenade. Riker sighed, and glanced, in slight horror, at the sight before him.

"Data," he asked, "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Data glanced up, and matter-of-factly, responded, returning to his task.

"I am deactivating my sexuality program," he explained, "For several reasons. Despite the short-term benefits it provided my relationship with Lieutenant Yar, it has proved to be problematic. She does not approve of it, and based on my experience with her, I have no reason to assume that any other individual would. The activation of this program has also produced...adverse effects within my own program." He continued to poke and prod at himself with the instrument, producing a series of small zaps and beeps as he worked through removing connections in his postitronic brain.

Riker sighed, and glanced up at him, concerned.

"What adverse effects?" he asked, "Can you be a little bit more specific?"

"Since our intimacy," he explained, "My thoughts have revolved around it, and around Natasha specifically. I find I have difficulty placing my thoughts on my duties, or on my own quest to become human. No...this is an inaccurate statement. I find more and more that I wish I were human..." he whispered, becoming deathly quiet, "Because...because I suspect that she does not approve of me because I am simply a machine. Perhaps, if I were human, I would prove to be a sufficient partner for her."

Riker frowned and sighed sympathetically, moving closer to Data, who, from Will's point of view, was cutting himself off from a chance to become just a little bit more human forever. He pulled over a chair, and sat across from Data.

"What makes you think you are an insufficient partner?" Riker asked.

"If I were a sufficient partner," Data explained, "She would not have engaged in sexual intercourse with the individual in her quarters."

"That individual," Riker explained, "Is a new crewman. His name is William Shatner. And I suspect that he's part of...Q's little game."

"Nevertheless," Data explained, "I was designed to be a sufficient partner. I have been proven otherwise. Thus, it is essential that I deactivate my sexuality program until such a time that it can be made sufficient again."

Riker paused, realizing as the android spoke that Data felt inadequate. Data felt that he had given something to her...only to have it trampled on. This only served to enrage Riker, as far as Lieutenant Shatner was concerned, but served also to make Riker question the reaction of Lieutenant Yar to the intimacy. He'd heard her first-hand tell Data on the bridge that it had 'never happened'. What could have possibly been running through her head?

"She was embarassed," Data continued, "To have been involved with me. This...this is, perhaps, with good reason. I am not organic, or human. I am not like her. I am...different." He paused, looking almost sad. "I do not believe that I can keep such a program engaged without risking damage, distraction, or distress to my positronic brain. I wish to avoid malfunctions."

"Data," Riker sighed, moving next to the android, and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Whether things between you and Lieutenant Yar work out or not...the fact of the matter is that you don't have an awfully high number of frames of reference, do you?"

Data paused, recalled the events of his life, and responded.

"This was my first attempt at intimacy," he explained, "But it has...through its failure...set a significant precedent."

Riker glanced down at 'Pinocchio', and smiled.

"Get used to it," he chuckled, "You'll find that you go through a lot of heartbreak before you find that right person. And even when you do...there's going to be fights. There's going to be rough patches." Riker thought, in the back of his mind, to the current state of affairs between himself and Counselor Troi. If there was ever a textbook definition for 'rough patch', it was the dark and stormy night the couple was engaged in right now.

Riker had saved the ship...but, emotionally, looking back on the way he'd handled things, he'd lost something possibly greater. And, through the telepathic link he shared with his Imzadi, he could still feel the stormclouds. It made him grit his teeth, just a bit. He wasn't used to being bombarded by this type of emotion...Deanna was usually such a positive person.

Data glanced up, like a child, confused at Riker's words.

"I do not understand," he spoke, "If intimacy between humans produces the same adverse effects that I currently experience...why do they engage in it, to begin with?"

Riker sighed, and patted his friend on the shoulder.

"Hope," he explained, "The chance for companionship...friendship...partnership. The chance to grow old together. The chance to raise a family, to spend time together, to share your life with someone."

"That seems illogical," Data pondered, "Why put such a great deal of oneself at such risk?"

"Because sometimes the rewards of a relationship like that make it worth it," Riker smiled, thinking back to all of the wonderful days he'd spent with Deanna while he'd been posted as a Lieutenant on Betazed. "Once in a while, even though you usually get it wrong...you get lucky."

"'Get lucky'. A human cultural allusion to sex?" Data asked.

"No. Different kind of lucky, Mister Data," Riker smiled, "Sometimes you find someone who's right for you. You care about them, they care about you. Sure, you have your differences...you have your quarrels, your disagreements...but, at the end of the day, you know where you stand. You care about someone, they care about you."

Data paused, and lowered his tools, considering these facts.

"I am incapable of emotion," he explained, "I cannot...care..."

Riker paused, considering the point. He stroked his chin, as if stroking a beard that wasn't quite there.

"No..." he sighed, "I guess not...:"

"But," Data continued, "I have diverted a significant portion of my programming, my memory, and my functioning since our sexual encounter towards her, and I find that I cannot help myself allocating further and further amounts of memory to Natasha's file."

"You also call her Natasha," Riker grinned, patting the android on the back, "That's a good sign. First-name basis is always a good start."

"But...I never would refer to her as such in her presence," Data explained. "Commander Riker...I am certain that she, following our encounter, has become a significant part of my program. She is...special to me. Yet...I am uncertain as to whether or not she considers me in a similar light." He paused, darkly watching the flowers in Riker's hands, reaching for the tools again. "Given her encounter with Lieutenant Shatner, her thoughts on the matter seem obvious..."

Data reached for the tool again, the complete his work, but Riker reached down and took it out of his hands.

"No," he commanded, watching as Data set the tool down, "Don't. Keep your program online, Mister Data. All of it."

"But...sir!" Data responded, shakily, "It is...causing me to malfunction..."

"To err is human," Riker smiled, "But don't sell the whole experience of love short because of a fling gone wrong. There's a Mrs. Data out there, waiting for you, somewhere...and whether that Mrs. Data is Lieutenant Yar or not remains to be seen. But this is your first time feelings what you...well, feel."

"I am incapable of such feeling - " Data responded, before Riker waved, and shut him up.

"I don't think so," Riker answered, "In fact...your reaction to this whole situation is a lot more human than I'd expected from you." He smiled, and Data glanced up at him in confusion.

"I do not understand," Data admitted, as if shamefully.

"That's the beauty of love, Mister Data," Riker explained, stepping towards the door, "You never do."

He stepped out into the corridor, confident that the android could now make his own decision on the matter. Data glanced down at the tool in his hand, and considered the numerous benefits of deactivating his sexuality program, and deleting the memories of his encounter with Lieutenant Yar.

No...his encounter with _Natasha_.

He paused for a moment. Logically, the cons far outweighed the difference. That being the case, Commander Riker seemed to believe that, despite the failure, this 'love' was a worthwhile human expeirence. It would bring him closer, given the chance, to humanity. Even with this being the case, the benefits of deletion seemed to vastly outnumber the drawbacks.

There was, however, still a problem. He found that when he attempted to delete or compress the file regarding Natasha Yar that he was incapable of doing so. It was, in a manner, much to his chagrin, and displeasure. If he could delete the file, or remove the file regarding their encounter, it would make functioning far easier. And yet...he found that he did not wish to forget. It was an event from which he had grown...it was the first time he had engaged his program. It had been...special. Significant.

Just as she was, to him. Significant.

He had already allocated a significant amount of his positronic brain to thoughts of Lieutenant Yar. He found he only wanted to allocate more. It was an urge he could not explain...but perhaps one that was just part of his base programming. He wanted to be closer to her...to be nearer to her...

Which only compounded his frustration with Lieutenant Shatner, especially based on Commander Riker's suspicions. If Riker was correct...then Lieutenant Yar, Natasha, was under the influence of an omnipotent being beyond her ability to combat. A creature that was taking advantage of her.

Taking advange...

...Rape...

She had described to Data, that night, in detail, how she had escaped from Turkana IV, formerly known as the New Paris colony. She had explained the way that she'd been forced to...to exchange her very body, her very body, for the food and the supplies that she'd needed to survive. She'd explained the way that if she'd refused to, the men of the colony had simply taken what she'd wanted.

Data felt something else snap into place. It wasn't quite rage, or anger...it was determination. Purpose. An amendment to his primary programming.

If the Soong-type android known as Data had anything to do with it, at all, she would never be taken advantage of again. She had endured sufficient suffering in her youth...the thought that someone, especially a Starfleet officer, could be carrying out the same wretched thing on her went firmly against his ethics program, as defined by his creator. Data would not allow such him to succeed. He would rescue Natasha, if it should prove that her current relationship with Shatner was the result of Q's influence. He would not rest, nor regenerate, until he was certain that this new function and purpose of his had been carried out in full.

He put away the tools, and consulted his own positronic maintenance computer.

"Computer, run diagnostic of sexuality program."

"Sexuality program is fully functional," the computer replied, quickly. "Program pending deactivation."

"Cancel deactivation," Data commanded.

Data paused, and his face grew darker.

"Allocate reserve energy cells and auxiliary power source to positronic calculation matrix and to tactical systems," he commanded.

"Warning," the computer cautioned, "Allocating this power will reduce the efficiency of the energy cells in the event of an emergency - "

"Override," Data commanded, slowly, placing his positronic scalp in place, and stepping out the automatic doors into the corridor.

He would determine the true nature of Lieutenant Yar's relationship with Shatner. If necessary, he would intervene and remove Shatner as a threat to her well-being.

Even if that forcibly meant physically removing, and terminating, Mister Shatner.


	15. XIV: Revolving Ready Room Door

Picard raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the crew reports from the _USS Rorschach_ when his first officer barrelled into the Ready Room.

"I don't recall saying you could come in," Picard mused.

"I carried out an override," Riker snapped, looking ragged in his own regard. He was obviously preoccupied, and there seemed to be something deeply troubling him. This, in turn, troubled Picard. Will Riker was a difficult person to faze - normally, the man was the paragon of confidence, of charisma, and of ambition. Picard found it incredibly difficult to accept that something would easily concern the man.

"Number One," Picard sighed, "For what reason would you carry out an override on the Ready Room doors?"

Riker simply glared at him, from across the desk, his face in a scowl.

"Have you read the crew reports, sir?" he snapped.

"I have," Picard responded, "And I've, on my desk, a background check from Lieutenant Yar. All of the new crew members seem to check out just fine." He paused, glancing back over the PADD containing her report, raising an eyebrow in amazement. "Especially this mister Shatner. He seems to come very highly recommended."

Picard glanced up from the PADD, watching a much darker expression cloud Riker's visage. Picard set down the PADD, and slid the cup of earl grey he'd been sipping at to the other side of the table.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Number One?" Picard inquired.

"There is, sir," Riker snapped, "I believe that Mister Shatner should be observed."

"He's a command candidate," Picard mused, glancing over the report, "Recipient of the Starfleet Silver Cross...recommended by Admiral Nechayev herself. Now, that's a difficult endorsement, in itself, to earn, Commander Riker, wouldn't you agree?"

Riker scowled even deeper than before, approaching the desk, and leaning over it, glaring back at Picard.

"He has all the qualifications, _sir,_" Riker snapped, "But I'm convinced the man's up to no good. I suspect that he's in league with the Q."

Picard paused for a moment, and then lifted his cup of earl grey, taking a long, lingering sip. He set the cup down, and then met the gaze of his First Officer.

"And what," he inquired, "Would possibly make you suspect such a thing?"

Riker took a deep breath, confronting Picard but being, at the same time, aware at the utter lack of facts that he had at his disposal.

"The man is a womanizer," Riker snapped, "He seems to be overly close to our security chief. I consider that an unnecessary risk."

Picard chuckled lightly, reflecting on his younger years, and smiled over at Riker.

"If every young man with hormones were to become a prime suspect," he chuckled, "I suspect the majority of unmarried male officers on this vessel under their forties would qualify as equal risks to this ship's safety," he finished, "Including yourself."

Riker's face reddened. Picard hadn't been there, hadn't witnessed the way that Yar had seemed to melt into Shatner's grasp, just as Troi had, in the transporter room. There was something a great deal more devious going on right now than the Captain seemed to grasp, and Riker was aggravated, first of all, by the fact that the Captain seemed oblivious to it...

...but, also, that Riker had been considered to be even in the same class as Shatner. Shatner was a menace. Riker had already seen this at work. He'd watched an android with a broken heart drop a bouquet of flowers, dash off to his quarters, and try to turn himself into an emotional eunuch because of the man's actions, and lack of self-control. Shatner had an awful lot coming. And what he had coming wasn't going to be pretty when it arrived.

"Captain," Riker responded, "With all due respect...I don't think at this point that we can rule out the fact that the new crew members may pose a threat to our safety."

"Right you are, Number One," Picard agreed, nodding sagely, "But...until we see any indication of danger towards Doctor Crusher, Miss Troi, or...or the mystery partner of Data's who Lieutenant Yar is keeping secret...it would be premature to assume that Lieutenant Shatner is exclusively at fault."

Riker was about to open his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. Data and Tasha had gone through a great deal of trouble, already, keeping their relationship secret from the Captain and the senior staff. Riker knew he'd have to handle this...but he was going to have to handle this on his own. His way. He was going to have to confront William Shatner.

"Of course," Riker sighed, exasperated, "You're right, sir. I guess I've just been...tense."

Picard leaned over the chair, sighing deeply.

"I know," he agreed, "As have we all. I am deeply concerned for Doctor Crusher and Lieutenant Troi. I am also concerned for Lieutenant Commander Data, and his partner. I am also concerned for you, of course, Will."

Riker smiled, lightly, but the concern beneath that smile was evident.

"There's nothing to worry about, sir," Riker responded, "We've managed to wave off Q in the past...I'm sure we'll manage it again."

"I hope you're right, Number One," Picard sighed, as Riker headed towards the door, "For all our sakes."

Riker stepped outside, and Picard breathed a deep, heavy sigh. He glanced over the crew reports one last time, took a deep sip of his tea, and then set the cup down, tugging at his shirt almost nervously. He'd been meaning all day to go to Sickbay and pick up the medical charts for the new crewmen - he'd requested a full report from Doctor Crusher once they'd left Starbase Twelve. She'd been remarkably...short, with him. As if he'd done something wrong.

Picard thought back to his conversation with Q, on the bridge. What had the omnipotent called him? Romantically oblivious? Something like that. Far from it, however. Picard was well aware of his own feelings, and kept them in check as best he could. Was he attracted to Doctor Beverly Crusher? Certainly. He'd known her longer than anyone else aboard, and had certainly been a part of her life longer than anyone else aboard. But there were complications. Terrible complications.

She was a Chief Medical Officer. He was a Captain. It wasn't...proper. He had a responsibility to Starfleet, to his uniform, and to his crew. No matter what he felt, he couldn't pursue those feelings if it would put a single member of his crew in jeopardy. There was too much to do, too much for him to think about. He didn't have the time for romance right now.

Although...if he ever did...Beverly Crusher would most certainly be on the top of his list...

Picard slammed the PADD in his hand down on the table, cracking the screen.

"No, damnit," he hissed. He'd been Captain of the _Stargazer_ when Jack Crusher, Beverly's husband, had been killed. She was his best friend's widow. On a personal level...he felt that he was betraying Jack's memory by even his thoughts, his emotions regarding Beverly. Picard's breathing was heavy, his heart pumping hard, as he wished, for just a moment, that he was someone else, somewhere else...perhaps, years ago, if he'd been a junior command officer, and she'd been a regular medic, things might have...

No. No fantasies, no wondering, no questions. You are who you are, she is who she is.

"And who she is," Picard muttered to himself, "Is absolutely off-limits."

He sighed, acknowledging that he'd been stalling all day. He'd been supposed to head down to Sickbay a couple of hours ago, but he kept finding things to take him away. Reviewing crew manifests, consulting with Commander Riker on the subject of Q's new game...

...ah yes, the game. Another reason not to pursue a romantic relationship. At all. If Q caught wind that there was even an inkling of emotion towards Doctor Crusher...

...but, then, he already had, hadn't he?

Picard's silent reflection was broken, sharply, as a chirp rang out within the room indicating that someone was waiting outside. Picard raised an eyebrow, sighed, and relaxed in his seat, trying to compose himself.

"Come," he commanded.

The doors to the Ready Room opened again, and this time Deanna Troi, ship's counselor, stepped into the room wearing one of her usual form-fitting jumpsuits, this one just a little different from the usual style. The color was maroon, and profound, and the chestline was just a little lower on this uniform than usual. Picard's eyes widened slightly, and he found himself trying to divert his gaze, lest she think he was peeking. She'd obviously put on a great deal of make-up, her lips were red and full, and she was staring at Picard with desperation and hopelessness.

"Erm, counselor," Picard mumbled, stumbling verbally, "What can I do for you?"

"It's about Will," she spoke, breathlessly, "Captain, please, you have to help me..."

Picard arched his eyebrows, and glanced back at her in mild surprise.

"Counselor," he explained, "Will was here a few minutes ago. You just barely missed him. Is everything alright?" He glanced at her with concern evident on his face. She seemed as if she were desperate, or worried, or anxious. She was usually a warm, comforting, kind person, but she was usually very confident, and very capable of handling her own emotions, along with those of the crew. This behaviour was most unlike her. At his words, she glanced back at him with what looked like despair on her face.

"Damn," she whispered, "I was so close...do you know where he's headed next?"

"I am not certain," Picard continued, glancing at her as his concern became a sort of suspicion. There seemed to be something going on, and he was in the dark. Par for the course, today. "I am sure, however, that if he should need you urgently, he will contact you by communicator."

"Captain, you don't understand!" Deanna practically wailed, stumbling awkwardly towards the door as if she were drugged, "_I'm_ the one who needs _him!"_

Picard paused, recognizing the sexual undertone in her voice, and was about to question her further when she left, the doors whoosing shut behind her.

Raising a palm to his face, Picard sighed, and glanced out the window. It was going to be a long, long evening. And the night was still young. He stood, and made his way towards the Ready Room door, stepping out onto the bridge. He noticed that the only regular bridge officers who seemed to be manning their posts were LaForge and Worf, at Flight Control and Ops. Everyone else seemed to be...absent.

Picard rolled his eyes, scoffing at his own choice of diction.

_As if you're not rather absent yourself, right now,_ he scolded himself.

The turbolift door at the side of the bridge opened, just as Picard was about to step into it, and he saw Commander Riker standing inside. He was holding his head, looking slightly...well, looking slightly disturbed, and watching Picard with a determined sort of look on his face.

"Have you seen her?" Riker snapped.

Picard rolled his eyes, "You mean Counselor Troi, I assume?"

Riker nodded, and groaned, still clutching his head.

"Is everything alright, Commander?" Picard found himself asking, the man apparently engulfed in psionic agony.

"Fine," Riker snapped, "Do you know where she was headed?"

"She went looking for you," Picard explained, arching an eyebrow.

"She passed me on her way up to the bridge, on Deck Two," Riker snapped, "And I have no idea where she is now.

Picard paused slightly, and crossed his arms.

"Well, that just doesn't make any sense," Picard responded, "She said she was looking for you, Number One."

Riker reached out of the lift, grabbing him roughly by the collar, the madness in his eyes apparent.

"What did she say?" he snapped, "Damnit, sir, what did she say?!?"

"She said she was looking for Will. I don't know any other Will she'd be referring to," Picard snapped back, pulling his First Officer's hands off his uniform front. At the words, Riker's eyes widened, and a look of horror spread across his face. "Now, if you don't mind," Picard continued, "I need to take this lift to Sickbay. May I join you, Number - "

Picard had no chance to finish his sentence before Riker slammed a panel at the side of the lift, the doors whooshed shut, and the lift moved down, away from the bridge.

" - One..." Picard spat a curse out, under his breath, crossed his arms, and wondered just what the hell was going on aboard his ship, now.


	16. XV: PictureinPicture

The little revolving door scene on the bridge was enough fun, on its own, but Q was taking a comedy, and turning it into an entertainment experience. He was lounged on a cloudy throne, had put the heavenly choirs in the background on mute, and had the flatscreen playing a picture-in-picture so that while he was watching the little controntation between dear Jean-Luc and Commander Riker, he was also observing a chance meeting on Deck Three. Lieutenant "William Shatner", who was traipsing down the corridor with his arm around the utterly love-drunk Lieutenant Yar. Rather than her usual gold jumpsuit, Yar was wearing a distinctive, and revealing, dark blue dress. The two had practically collided with the lovely Counselor Troi, who had been traversing the corridors in search of the missing Shatner.

Q giggled with delight at the sight of the disgust on her face, and snapped his fingers, materializing a bowl of Cheetos the size of a hot tub, from which he ate giddily. The confrontation that followed the "chance meeting" - all of which, of course, had been cleverly orchestrated by "Shatner" in the first place - was the stuff that would have met the approval of Jerry Springer, himself.

_Now, there,_ Q mused, _Was a human who knew how to have a little fun._

He put the thought out of his head, and continued observing. Now, all the things that followed, he'd seen before. The name calling, the accusations, the lewd remarks, and every other of verbal projectile thrown back and forth that the two women could think of, despite their drugged state. Next came the real fun - hair pulling, slapping, scratching, and a nasty left hook that sent Deanna flying across the corridor. Deanna was quick to retaliate by lunging, tacking Tasha to the ground, and preparing to swing back when "Shatner" caught her fist in mid-air. He gazed at her directly, into her eyes, and then into Tasha's.

"Cue the music!" Q hollered, merrily, "Or Q the music, as the case may be..."

The vintage 1960's music that had become the trademark of Shatner's romantic encounters thus far filled the corridor, and the two women gazed back at him, entranced. The sound of the strings enraptured them, drew them in like the viper's stare, and Q glanced over at one of the cherubs, who was floating around carrying a giant flashlight in its grasp, flapping its wings violently to keep above the clouds.

"And now, maestro! Cue the lights!" Q called, motioning to him.

The little winged fellow slapped the flashlight, but the thing simply would not turn on. It flicked the on/off switch, and still nothing happened. It glanced over at Q, shrugging.

"Sorry, boss," it mumbled.

Q rolled his eyes, and grumpily rose up from the couch.

"Do I have to do _everything_ myself?" he groaned. He brought his foot up, swiftly, booting the little whelp a few light-years the other direction in the course of several seconds, picking up the large flashlight-floodlight-thing, snapping his fingers, and somehow, through use of his godly powers, turning on the lights.

Immediately, as Q glanced over at the television screen, he could see soft lighting filling the corridor where "Shatner" was slowly recapturing Yar's interest, and capturing Troi's thoroughly and completely for the first time. Everything was going just according to plan.

"Ladies, ladies," he heard the chestnut-haired smooth-talker muse, "There's no need to fight...I think you're both very lovely. Really, I do."

Deanna blushed, and Tasha giggled, biting her lower lip slightly, and nervously.

"Say," he continued, reaching down and helping both of them up from the ground, "Lieutenant Yar has been kind enough to show me around her quarters...Counselor, would you care to give me a tour of yours?" With that, he put an arm around each of the young women, walking with them down the hallway.

Q laughed out loud, thoroughly enjoying himself, as he hopped back onto the couch, reaching his fist deeply into the Cheetos tub, and watching the second picture, where Riker was waiting impatiently for the turbolift he was on to stop on Deck Three, so that he might ride to the rescue of his beloved Imzadi.

Little did he know he'd be far, far too late to do anything, now.

* * *

The turbolift door opened, and William Riker stepped out onto Deck Three. He had to find Deanna, and see how she was coping through all of this. She had still been sending telepathic clouds his direction, indicating that she was still upset about...about whatever it was that she was upset about, until about ten minutes ago. There was something amiss. Something had changed. And, given how he'd seen Lieutenant Yar's most recent change turn out, Riker was not looking forward to finding out what Deanna's involved.

Damn it, he _knew_ what she had been upset about before. He'd really ignored her on after the virus had struck her. It seemed to be a trend lately. As he walked along, Riker pondered over what a recurring theme this had become onboard. Picard sat in his Ready Room, consistently studying, or working, or preparing for his next shift. Yar was always very solitary, or at least she'd been before Shatner had shown up, and she had little time for after-hours company or socializing. She'd occasionally visit the holodeck for martial arts training, but that was about it.

Everyone was becoming so damned introverted...thinking about career, about duty, and about the ship to the exclusion of their own emotional well-being. Was he doing it, too? What was a life without emotion, without love, without closeness? Damn...Riker was beginning to feel like he understood what Data's life was like a little better, now. He was in a position, though, to do something about it.

He had to get to her quarters before someone else did. Before Shatner did. And before things dissolved on this damned ship even more than they already had.

After about a two minute jog, he found himself standing right outside her door. Through the link that they shared, a bond which linked their minds consistently, Riker could feel not the frustration or the anger that had shrouded her before. He was feeling something else. It was a feeling like intoxication, a high, a thrill. It was giggles, and bubbly, and bouncy. Right now, given Riker's fears, he almost wished that she'd go back to stormclouds. He realized that one way or another, he wasn't going to know if she was there...or if she was entertaining "company"...until he tried the door. He took a deep, displeased breath, and pressed a switch on the door. He closed his eyes, and raised a hand to rub them, nervously.

"Come on..." he whispered, "Answer the door...damnit, Deanna, answer the door..."


End file.
